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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chapi.:£^rCopyright No. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




















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IN THE 

GREEN WOOD 

BY y/ 

ROWLAND E. ROBINSON 




BURLINGTON, VT. 

HOBART J. SHANLEY & CO. 

PUBLISHERS 

1899 

1 


TWO COPIES FKCBIVED, 

Library of CcBgpcfiCti 

Offl^o uf thQ 

0EG3O1899 

Register of CopyHsht* 

10 





Copyright, 1899, by 
HOBART J. SHANLEY & CO. 


I t • t r; , , 


ff . 

^ , f 


A f 


SECOND COPY, 




TO MY CHILDREN 

Cittle Boob 

IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 



Contents 


CHAPTER 

I. 

New Haven Falls . 


PAGE 

I 

II. 

Highlanders 


13 

III. 

At Fort George 


33 

IV. 

The Old Battle-Ground 


40 

V. 

At Ticonderoga 


47 

VI. 

The Rescue 


57 

VII. 

Dispossessed 


65 

VIII. 

Finding Friends 


78 

IX. 

Warning .... 


96 

X. 

At Gilliland’s . 

• 

103 

XI. 

The Green Mountain Boys 

• 

118 

XII. 

A Stormy Passage . 

• 

133 

XIII. 

A Midnight Flitting 

• 

143 

XIV. 

A Pioneer Abolitionist . 

t 

150 




In the Green Wood 


I 

NEW HAVEN FALLS 

Early in the spring of 1773 James 
Pangborn stood in the open door of 
his log-house, looking out with an 
anxious face upon the majestic sweep 
of the swollen river bearing onward 
a procession of huge ice-cakes and 
great logs of driftwood. With an ac- 
celerated rush they advanced to the 
brink of the dam that overhung the 
First Falls of Otter Creek. Every ice- 
floe and drifting tree, after grinding 
and snatching at the overflowed banks, 
paused a moment in its impetuous 


2 


In the Green Wood 


course, trembling as in dread of the 
fearful plunge, then, as the gathering 
current piled behind it, went toppling 
and rearing to the leap down the white 
precipice of torn water, the crash df 
its descent swallowed up in the con- 
tinual thunder of the cataract. 

“If the dam stan’s the racket, I 
don’t see nothin’ to hender startin’ 
the mill to-morrow,’’ the man said as 
his gaze ran restlessly along the fre- 
quently broken smoothness of the 
dam’s rim to the mill that stood on 
the rocky verge, a skeleton of posts 
and beams, waiting to clothe itself 
with garments that it would presently 
fashion out of the piles of logs that 
lay about it. 

“ The ice is goin’ out easy. If it 
don’t rain or somethin’, I guess the 
dam’ll Stan’ it,’’ he continued, speak- 
ing more to himself than to his wife, 
who left the johnny-cake baking on 


New Haven Falls 


3 


its board before the open fire to come 
to the door to note the progress of 
the spring flood. 

The younger children were intent 
upon the baking of the johnny-cake, 
for it was to be served with the first 
maple sugar of the season. John, the 
eldest son now at home, a lad of four- 
teen, was not unmindful of the tempt- 
ing odors of the browning corncake 
and the maple syrup blubbering in the 
kettle hung on the trammel, but as 
he stood leaning on his axe, resting 
from chopping the night’s wood, his 
thoughts went more with his eyes 
upon the strong, relentless flow of the 
river and the imperilled dam. His sis- 
ter, two years younger, just returned 
from the border of the little clearing, 
lingered beside him, with one hand 
hiding something behind her home- 
spun woollen gown, her eyes follow- 
ing his down to the restless, surging 


4 


In the Green Wood 


river. Then she lifted them to the 
placid sky and its slow drift of silver 
clohds floating in the full sunlight that 
now only touched the eastern border 
of the clearing. 

“ I guess spring’s a-comin’ kind o’ 
mod’rate, and the ice is goin’ out 
easy,” said John, lifting his axe, but 
still looking up and abroad. ” I see 
a bluebird to-day, Mercy. I couldn’t 
hear him sing ’cause the falls made 
such a roarin’, but I know he was 
a-singin’. He looked ju’ like a piece of 
the sky dropped out,” and he drove 
the axe to its eye in the dry pine that 
he stood upon. 

” Oh, yes, spring’s come. Look 
a-here,” said Mercy, withdrawing her 
hand from the scant folds of her 
gown and disclosing in it a little 
bunch of squirrel-cups. ” And they’re 
just like those we got last spring at 
home.” 


New Haven Falls 


5 


“ Oh, they're pretty," said John as 
Mercy held the blue and white and 
purple flowers up for him to admire 
and smell, “ but they smell as if they 
were just going to smell." And then 
she took them in for the assured ap- 
preciation of her mother. 

"Oh, the sweet, pretty things!" 
said Susan Pangborn, holding them 
to her face and then away with the 
hand that held the case-knife. " How 
could we ever live in the woods if it 
wasn’t for the flowers and birds?" 
And she went on cleaving the johnny- 
cake from its board as quietly as if 
her heart did not ache with a home- 
sick longing for the smooth, stump- 
less fields with their bordering woods 
of far-away Connecticut. 

Mercy put her flowers in her cher- 
ished little brown pitcher, and placed 
them by her mother’s plate, being am- 
ply rewarded by the cheery, loving 


6 


In the Green Wood 


smile of her mother, who now an- 
nounced: 

Supper's ready. Come, father, 
before it gets cold." 

The father and son washed their 
hands and faces in the little trough 
that served as washbowl, and combed 
their yellow locks with their fingers. 
When all had gathered about the 
table, the voices of the children were 
hushed as the father asked his simple 
blessing: 

" God, make us thankful for what 
we’ve got, an’ keep us from hanker- 
ing for what we hain’t got.’’ 

At nightfall the last gleam of day- 
light showed the dam still uninjured, 
and the settlers went to their early 
rest with hopeful hearts. 

It was over a year since James Pang- 
born had made a pitch at the Lower 
Falls of Otter Creek, under a grant 
from Governor Wentworth of New 


New Haven Falls 


7 


Hampshire, and began building a saw- 
mill. He had some fears of an officer 
of the late war, whose grant of lands 
lying on Otter Creek, made to him by 
the government of New York, included 
his own pitch. 

Disputes of land titles formed one 
of the great obstacles that confronted 
settlers in the region now called Ver- 
mont, for both the provinces of New 
Hampshire and New York claimed 
the territory between the Connecticut 
River and Lake Champlain. Each 
province issued charters of the same 
lands to different parties, which inevi- 
tably caused a bitter controversy be- 
tween the rival claimants. Each was 
forcibly ejected by the other, accord- 
ing to its strength, and each was sup- 
ported by its respective provincial 
government, both of which made fre- 
quent appeals to the king, under whose 
authority both charters were issued. 


8 


In the Green Wood 


for a confirmation of their titles. The 
dispute began several years before the 
Revolution, and did not end for sev- 
eral years after its close, when, in 
1791, Vermont was admitted to the 
Union upon a settlement of the claims 
of New York. 

The “ Green Mountain Boys” for 
the most part lived in the southward 
settlements, and held their lands with 
a strong hand, which they assured 
Pangborn should be extended for his 
protection. Thus with the pioneer’s 
courage and perseverance he had built 
a log-house, whither he had brought 
his family, and had built the mill since 
their arrival. 

This enterprise was carried on un- 
der great difficulties, for, apart from 
the privations attending a remote fron- 
tier settlement, all the iron-work of 
the mill had to be transported a long 
distance through the almost pathless 


New Haven Falls 


9 


wilderness. The shaft and crank were 
drawn for miles through the woods on 
a hand-sled, while the saw and some 
other parts had come less laboriously 
by ox-team down the frozen current 
of the river. Although he felt some 
uneasiness concerning the conflicting 
titles, the pioneer now looked confi- 
dently forward to the reward that 
the growing settlement of the region 
promised. 

When the bright April morning 
broke, the broad, swift current of the 
river swept smoothly on its course, 
unvexed by the swirl and surge of 
floating ice, and poured in an un- 
broken line over the entire length of 
the dam. Beyond it the gaunt frame 
of the mill stood firm and steadfast on 
its rocky foundations, now hidden, 
now disclosed, as the clouds of mist 
rolled upward from the boiling caul- 
dron at the cataract’s foot. 


10 


In the Green Wood 


The morning was not far spent when 
James Pangborn and his son repaired 
to the mill, and had not completed 
their preparations for starting it when 
they were joined by the rest of the fam- 
ily, anxious to witness the grand event. 

A great pine log was rolled upon 
the carriage and dogged in its place ; 
the lever of the gate was pressed down ; 
the water rushed from the flume, add- 
ing its small volume to the roar of the 
falls; the water-wheel began to re- 
volve; the saw-gate slowly arose and 
descended, and then, with quicker 
strokes, the flashing saw menaced the 
advancing log; then with sharp, quick 
bites began to gnaw it through from 
end to end: The rapid swish of the saw, 
the throbbing creak of the gate, and 
clank of the ratchet on the rag-wheel 
were sweet music to the little audience, 
whose keen ears heard it all, piercing 
the deep thunder of the cataract. 


New Haven Falls 


II 


The father watched intently every 
movement of the machinery, and the 
strained anxiety of his face gradually 
gave way to triumphant satisfaction 
as each part performed its work, and 
the regular jets of sawdust spurted up 
and fell to the roaring nether depths, 
to mingle with the beaver-chips drift- 
ing down from the wild mountain tor- 
rents. The carriage tripped the gate- 
lever, and all the swish and clatter 
ceased as the saw slowly rose and fell 
and stopped midway in its next as- 
cent. This moment of success re- 
warded months of labor and depriva- 
tion. 

All through the bright and rainy 
days of the fitful spring weather the 
mill kept merrily at work, mingling 
its sharp treble with the deep bass of 
the cataract, and, after the manner of 
pioneers, making itself a covering for 
its own nakedness. Its freshly sawn 


12 


In the Green Wood 


sides shone new and strange among 
the gray trunks and rocks and mist 
that seemed as old as the world itself, 
and the growing lumber piles breathed 
into the woods the unaccustomed odor 
of fresh-cut pine wood. 

From morning till night father and 
son worked steadily in the mill, till 
about the time of corn-planting, when 
James Pangborn fell sick with fever 
and ague, that scourge of the pioneers, 
and became quite unable to work, so 
that a double portion fell on John’s 
young shoulders. Inured to hard- 
ships and labors that would appall one 
of his years in an older settlement, he 
bore the burden unflinchingly and 
manfully. He kept the sawing and 
corn-planting alternately progressing, 
helped in both by his mother and sis- 
ter, for the women and girls of those 
days had apt and willing hands for all 
manner of work. 


II 


HIGHLANDERS 

One day late in the spring of the 
same year there was an unusual stir 
on the old military road that, like a 
corrugated groove, furrowed the an- 
cient forest from Fort Edward to the 
head of Lake George. After the busy 
days of war it fell into comparative 
disuse. A squad of red-coated sol- 
diers passing to or from the Lake 
Champlain forts at rare intervals, an 
adventurous traveller on horseback, 
and the fortnightly carrier of the mails 
to those forts were now its most fre- 
quent passengers. 

Natural growth and decay had 
wrought the only changes in it during 
the less than score of years which had 


14 


In the Green Wood 


elapsed since the survivors of the Fort 
William Henry massacre fled along it 
from the scene of that fearful trag- 
edy, or Abercrombie’s splendid army 
marched in the pomp and pride of an- 
ticipated triumph, or with torn ban- 
ners and broken ranks swarmed back 
in sullen retreat from an unpursuing 
foe, or Amherst’s no braver, but more 
fortunate, host swept on to uninter- 
rupted conquests. 

The same huge logs paved it that 
all these had trodden. The ancient 
massive trunks that ribbed its sides 
had echoed the rattle of drums, the 
shriek of fifes, the pibroch of Highland 
pipes, the groans of wounded men, 
the wail of women. 

The echoes responded now with 
quick reverberation to the hoof-beats 
of two horsemen pounding the road- 
way at a lively rate ; a half-mile far- 
ther on, to the footsteps of the soli- 


Highlanders 


15 


tary mail-carrier, and, as far beyond 
him, to the jolting of two heavily 
laden wagons upon the corduroy, the 
creak of their axles, the slow tramp 
of oxen, the shouts of their drivers, 
the clatter of heavily shod feet, and a 
confusion of voices speaking in broad 
Scotch dialect and harsh Gaelic. The 
various sounds mingled in the pecu- 
liar shivering crash of echoes that the 
green woods give back to loud noises 
made within them. 

With the exception of the two team- 
sters, who were, unmistakably, natives 
of the soil, the company of some thirty 
men, women, and children were High- 
landers, dressed for the most part in 
their distinctive garb, and all wearing 
their plaids, the bright tartans giving 
as unusual a touch of color to the som- 
bre gray of the road as their strange 
speech lent an unaccustomed cadence 
to the voices of the woods. 


1 6 In the Green Wood 

The hindmost wagon, a well-pre- 
served relic of the old army service, 
carried some sort of machinery for the 
principal part of its freight. A tall, 
dark, sober-faced Highlander kept al- 
ways beside or behind it, giving it his 
constant care, while his wife and 
daughter walked a little before him. 
The daughter was a tall, comely girl 
of nineteen or twenty, inheriting some- 
thing of her father’s staid air, with her 
mother’s tawny, yellow hair and fair 
complexion and handsome features. 
As she moved forward with strong yet 
graceful carriage, or stepped aside to 
pick strange, new flowers that caught 
her keen eye, she was a figure to at- 
tract admiring attention where there 
were many persons to see and be 
seen. 

A man, whose vigor the frosts of 
sixty years appeared to have ripened 
rather than impaired, for no one of 


Highlanders 1 7 

the party was more active and vigi- 
lant, called out: 

“ Tm just thinkin’, Ian Cameron, 
ye was mair carefu’ o’ yon miln nor 
ye was o’ your ain flesh an’ bluid.” 

“ Aweel,” the tall Highlander an- 
swered, “ what for no, gin she hae the 
mair need o’t, wi’ these Yankee loons 
whang-bangin’ her stanes an’ wheels 
ower this damned causeey as if they 
were nae mair than bags o’ her ain 
meal. The wife an’ Lisbeth’ll no 
break their ain banes, I’se thinkin’.” 

“ Happen the red Indians get ’em,” 
the other suggested, looking very 
serious but for a twinkle in his gray 
eyes. 

” Then it’s your ainsel’ tauld me 
there’ll be nae fear o’ them now. But 
gin they cam upon us, I’se thinkin’ 
they’ll mak nae stan’ afore our clay- 
mores.” 

” Then it’s little ye ken o’ their war- 
2 


1 8 In the Green Wood 

fare. Man, they’d hae us murthered, 
an’ we ne’er a sight o’ them, but the 
smoke o’ their guns. But ne’er fash 
yoursel’ aboot ’em. They’re a’ far 
awa’ an’ wadna harm us if they were 
here. But I’se thinkin’ ye like the 
company o’ the miln maist because 
she canna talk back.” 

” Never fear but she’ll hae clack o’ 
her ain to gie when she’s set goin’ wi’ 
gude grain eneuch to feed her. And 
that minds me it maun be nigh noon 
for us to halt.” 

” Aye, yon is the bit clearin’ wi’ 
the log-house, ’’said Donald McIntosh, 
and he gave orders to the teamsters 
to stop and unyoke the oxen from the 
wagons. 

The oxen were turned loose in their 
yokes to graze on the fresh herbage 
that was springing among the stumps 
and bushes of the old clearing. The 
men gathered wood and kindled fires. 


Highlanders 


19 


over which the women hung kettles 
and began preparing food brought 
from the wagons. 

Just then the two horsemen rode 
upon the busy scene and drew rein, 
running their eyes over the various 
groups in evident search of some one. 
One was a stolid-looking, strongly 
built young fellow, the other middle- 
aged, tall, and spare, with keen black 
eyes that were ever wandering, and a 
thin-lipped mouth sanctimoniously 
drawn down at the corners as if he 
were trying much more to look a good 
man than to be one. Both wore neat, 
plain liveries, showing them to be in 
the service of some person of conse- 
quence, and both carried pistols in 
their holsters, and the elder had a pil- 
lion tied behind his saddle. Presently, 
as if selecting it by chance, they drew 
near the group of Mclntoshes and 
Camerons. 


20 


In the Green Wood 


“ Can you tell me where I would 
find Mr. Donald McIntosh?” the 
elder man asked, his eyes wandering 
from one to another and dwelling on 
none. 

” What wad ye be wantin' wi’ 
him?” Donald asked. 

” I have a message for him from 
Colonel Reid.” 

” Aweel, then, I be Donald McIn- 
tosh, an' what wad be his honor's 
word ? ” 

The man at that drew a letter from 
his pocket and handed it to Donald, 
who opened it awkwardly and began 
slowly studying its contents, while the 
bearer of it waited with ill-concealed 
impatience. 

” Here, Lisbeth, lass,” said the old 
man at last, handing the letter to the 
girl, ” ye'd be quicker makin' it oot 
na I.” 

She blushed and looked startled as 


Highlanders 


21 


she read to herself and then aloud at 
Donald’s command: 

“Fort Edward, May 24, 1773. 
“Mr. Donald McIntosh : 

“ This is to tell you that I wish you to send 
me your niece, Elisabeth Cameron, at once 
on receipt of this, in care of these trusty men. 
I have great need of her to do some writing 
for me to the lawyers, concerning my grant 
on Lake Champlain, as*I have sprained my 
wrist badly and cannot hold a pen. Be so 
good as to despatch her at once in charge of 
these good men, and I will bring her to Ticon- 
deroga, where I will join you if not sooner. 

Your most obliged Friend and Patron, 

“John Reid. 

“ P. S. This greatly concerns all you, my 
Friends.” 

“ Must I go, Uncle Donald ?” she 
asked anxiously, glancing uneasily at 
her prospective escort. 

“ What for no ?” her father asked 
sternly. “ It’s e’en his honor’s or- 
ders.” 


22 


In the Green Wood 


“ Wait a wee/’ said Donald, “ I’m 
not unnerstan’in’ it. When we left 
Colonel Reid at Fort Edward he was 
to be at Fort George ayont, afore us to 
hae the batto boats a’ ready. How’s 
that ? ’ ’ 

“ But a letter came that stopped 
him,” the man answered blandly. 

” Oh, aye, but if he could write 
this, which is verra plain to read, I 
mind, what for canna he e’en write 
the lawyer letter as weel ? ” Donald 
asked again. 

” Why, you see a friend wrote this 
for him,” was the ready answer. 

” Aye, aye, but what for did na the 
friend write t’ither letters as weel as 
the tane ? ” 

” His friend had business of his 
own, and it’s like enough the Colonel 
wouldn’t want any but his own people 
to know what word he was sending,” 
the man answered pleasantly. 


Highlanders 


23 


“ Troth, it’s a true word ye speak,” 
said John Cameron. ” Lisbeth, ye’d 
best mak ready, but ye’ll all tak bit 
an’ sup afore ye go. Get doon fra 
your beasties, gentlemen, an’ the 
wife’ll soon hae it ready.” 

Donald’s doubts were soon reen- 
forced from an unexpected quarter. 
The mail-carrier having just arrived at 
the noon camp of the emigrants, and 
drawn by the inborn curiosity of his 
race no more than by admiration of 
the handsome Scotch lassie, whom he 
had seen twice before in the course of 
his regular route, now lingered near 
the group with ears intent on the con- 
versation and eyes no less so on the 
beautiful subject. Now, standing at 
Donald’s elbow, he made bold to take 
part in it. 

” If you want to know where Colo- 
nel Reid is, I can pooty nigh tell ye,” 
he said, drawing all eyes upon him- 


24 


In the Green Wood 


self, a well-favored young fellow, of 
tall, muscular figure, carrying a rifle 
in his hand, a tomahawk and knife at 
his side, and a knapsack on his back. 
“ He’ll be to the head o’ the lake by 
this time, for he come by me about 
six mile back.” 

” What for did he no come by us, 
then ?” said John Cameron. 

” Yes, why not, and by us, too ?” 
the spokesman of the two messengers 
asked, leering wickedly at the carrier, 
who returned his glance boldly and 
answered : 

” That’s because he took the short 
cut by the bridle path and so has 
passed you all, for, besides being 
shorter, a horse can go at a better 
pace than on the corduroy. He told 
me to tell Mr. McIntosh to put the 
team with the mill fixin’s ahead, ’cause 
if he found a boat to the lake, maybe 
he could get ’em aboard afore night, 


Highlanders 


25 


and he said for Mr. Cameron to have 
the team go along as spry as he das’t 
to, an’ not break anything.” 

” My troth,” said Donald, ” I be- 
lieve you speak the true word, lad. 
You’ll be him they ca’ Tom Pangborn, 
I doubt, an’ ye’ll be carryin’ the mails 
to the forts ayont Lake George ? ” 

The carrier nodded an affirmative, 
and Donald, turning to the horsemen, 
continued: ‘‘An’ as for you twa, if 
some mischievous body hasna sent ye 
on a fule’s errand, I dinna ken what 
to mak o’ your story.” 

‘‘You might know, sir, we’d have 
no reason to bring you a false mes- 
sage,” said the spokesman, looking 
as steadily as he could into Donald’s 
honest eyes. 

‘‘Aye,” said John Cameron, ‘‘an’ 
it’s mair like the twa wad be speakin’ 
the truth than ane. Come, Jeanette, 
ye’d best be gettin’ the lass ready an’ 


26 


In the Green Wood 


avva’, for it’s likes be the makin’ o’ 
her wi’ the Colonel. Oh, but ’twas 
the lucky day when Dominie McFar- 
lane found the makin’ o’ a schollard 
in the lassie.” 

Donald spoke out hotly in Gaelic: 
” It was a truer word than I thought, 
Ian Cameron, when I said you cared 
more for the mill than for your daugh- 
ter. You’d keep that under your eye 
all the time, but her you’d send into 
the wilderness with strangers just for 
the asking.” 

Cameron rejoined as testily in the 
same tongue: ” You’re not to think. 
Red Donald, that I’ll not rule my own 
household because John Reid put you 
in command of the men when he is 
not with us. Indeed, I will, now that 
it’s obeying his own order.” 

The wives of the two men put in an 
occasional word, while they hospitably 
served food and drink to the two mes- 


Highlanders 


27 


sengers, who, with the carrier eating 
the rations furnished from his own 
pack, and the teamsters, now drawn 
near the circle by curiosity, gazed and 
listened with as little understanding 
of the strange tongue as of the croak- 
ing of the frogs in adjacent puddles. 

“ You don’t know that it is his or- 
der,” said Donald. 

” Whose wad it be, then ? It’s plain 
they serve some gentleman, some 
friend of the Colonel’s, nae doubt.” 

” I’ll ask them, and if they give a 
straight answer, and one of them ’ll 
tak Jeanette or one o’ our lads be- 
hind, we’ll consider the matter.” 
Then addressing him of the faltering 
eyes in his best English, ” I tak frae 
your dress that ye sarve some gentle- 
man. Wha might he be ? ” 

” As good as any in the Province 
of New York,” was the prompt reply, 
” Mr. Philip Schuyler of Albany.” 


28 


In the Green Wood 


There was a significant exchange of 
glances between the two teamsters, 
one a tall, lank, awkward man, the 
other of stockier mould, but yet with 
capacity for quick movement upon oc- 
casion, though he looked as clumsy as 
his own oxen. 

“ Wal, naow,’’ drawled the first, 
calmly scrutinizing the form and dress 
of the last speaker, “ fur’s I’ve took 
a notice, Schuyler’s folks is mostly 
niggers, an’ wears a diffunt uniform 
f’m yourn, both skin an’ clo’s. Hain’t 
that so, Nathan ? ” 

His comrade nodded a decided af- 
firmative, and groped the ground for 
a soft stick, which he began whittling 
while he interrogated the now some- 
what embarrassed strangers. 

“ Hain’t you the fellers I seen yes- 
terday along wi’ young Mr. Skene ? 
I b’lieve ye be.” 

” Come to think on’t, I b’lieve Colo- 


Highlanders 


29 


nel Reid said he’d be back here to 
rights when he got the boat business 
’tended to,” said Tom Pangborn, 
studying the sun and the noontide 
shadows from his seat on the knap- 
sack. ” I shouldn’t wonder if become 
any minute. Fact, I b’lieve I can 
hear a horse cornin’ on the corduroy. 
Hark!” 

There was indeed a sound like ap- 
proaching hoof-beats. Donald McIn- 
tosh stepped upon the road to look, 
and the two strangers arose hastily 
and led their horses toward it. 

” Damn the luck ! ” said the tall one 
in a low voice to his companion. 
” We must be off before he comes. 
Mr. Phil was sure there was no fear o’ 
that.” Then calling back to the 
Scots: ” Well, we can’t wait any 
longer, and you’ll have to account to 
Colonel Reid why you won’t send the 
young lady to him.” 


30 


In the Green Wood 


‘‘ That we will not, her 'lane wi’ 
strangers,” said Donald, rejoining the 
group. “ If yedl tak her mither wi’ 
her, we might consider it mair favor- 
able like.” 

” We might drop the old woman 
two miles away, out of squalling dis- 
tance,” the tall man whispered to the 
other, but added as the Koof-beats 
became more distinct, ” No, it won’t 
do. Their damned Colonel is coming 
sure. No, we hadn’t any such instruc- 
tions. Good-day,” and with that they 
mounted and trotted briskly away. 

” I dinna see owt o’ the Colonel,” 
said Donald, ” but I’m na sorry yon 
loons are awa’.” 

” Come to think it over again, I 
ain’t sartain he said he was cornin’ 
back here,” said Tom Pangborn with 
a twinkle in his gray eyes, ” but I 
guess it give ’em a start, an’ my drum- 
min’ on the knapsack didn’t hender 


Highlanders 


31 


’em none,” and he repeated the per- 
formance to the admiration of most 
of the audience. 

” Aweel,” sighed John Cameron, 
” I doubt Lisbeth’s e’en lost a good 
chance.” 

” Be ye clean gane daft, Ian Cam- 
eron ? ” cried Donald, ” or be ye a 
damned fule, an’ your dochter saved 
frae the Lord-kens-what deil’s trap.” 

” I guess you’re about right there, 
Cap’n,” the tall teamster drawled. 
” I’m sartain them fellers is Skene’s 
men. The pious-mouthed, snake- 
eyed cuss is the one they call Skene’s 
passon, an’ fuller o’ the devil ’an an 
aig is o’ meat, an’ so’s his masters, 
old an’ young. Queer goin’s on there 
is over there to Skenesboro House, if 
half they tell is true. Why, they say 
the old man has kep’ his dead wife in 
the cellar these ten year, ’cause she 
draws a ’nuity, I b’lieve they call it, 


32 


In the Green Wood 


as long as she’s ’bove ground. Hain’t 
that so, Nathan ? ” 

“ It sartainly is,” said the other, 
shutting his knife with a quick motion, 
and tossing away the stick now whit- 
tled to a fine point, ” an’ it’s high time 
we was a-hitchin’ up an’ moggin’ 
along.” 

” An’ me, too,” said the mail-car- 
rier, arising and slinging his knapsack. 
” Good-bye to you an’ your women 
folks, Mr. McIntosh an’ Mr. McCam- 
eron. Maybe I’ll see you agin afore 
you leave Ticonderogue. ” 

” Good-bye, lad, an’ we’re a’ mickle 
obleeged to you for a gude turn,” said 
Donald heartily. His handsome niece 
looked her gratitude with smiles and 
blushes more eloquent than words, 
and her eyes followed him far on his 
way and sought him again at many a 
bend of the embowered road. 


Ill 


AT FORT GEORGE 

It was late in the afternoon when 
these strangers in a strange land came 
to the deserted fields that surrounded 
the grass-grown ruins of Fort William 
Henry, and the beautiful vision of the 
Lake of the Holy Sacrament was 
opened to them, its enchanted islands, 
its delectable mountains, softened with 
young leafage from shadowed foot to 
glorified crest, all doubled in the crys- 
tal depths that looked as immeasur- 
able as the sky. 

The batteaux were waiting at the 
landing, and one was at once freighted 
with the precious mill machinery and 
made ready for the next day's voyage. 

The party found roomy accommoda- 
3 


34 


In the Green Wood 


tions in the neighboring Fort George, 
uncrowded by its garrison, which in 
those piping times of peace consisted 
of one English soldier, his Yankee 
wife, and a dog, who was its most 
vigilant sentinel. 

Colonel Reid had already set forth, 
a passenger in the birch canoe of the 
mail-carrier, to make arrangements at 
the foot of the lake for the transpor- 
tation of his party to Lake Champlain, 
so it was now apparent beyond doubt 
that the story of his pretended mes- 
sengers was a fabrication. Its evil 
purpose could be guessed from what 
was known of the unscrupulous char- 
acter of the younger Skene, and hon- 
est John Cameron was now devoutly 
thankful that he had been withheld 
from falling into the snare. 

Two Highlanders guarded the loaded 
boats by the light of a watch-fire dur- 
ing the night. 


At Fort George 


35 


As Lisbeth and her mother sat by 
the cheerful and welcome barrack- 
room fire, they noticed, as she moved 
to and fro, that the woman who con- 
stituted a third of the garrison of Fort 
George had a wild, distraught look. 
Her wandering eyes returned often to 
Lisbeth’s fair face as she made a place 
for her guests by the fire. 

“ Your darter’s got a face tew harn- 
some for the wilderness,” she said at 
last as she seated herself opposite the 
two women. ” It’s lucky them black- 
hearted Skenes didn’t git their eyes 
on it. Oh, they’re bad ones, wuss’n 
wolves they be. The gal they lights 
on is wuss off than a fa’an with wolves 
arter it.” 

” Hush, woman, don’t git on to that 
talk,” her husband said somewhat 
sternly yet not unkindly. 

” Why not ?” she demanded. “Du 
you s’pose, man. I’m a-goin’ tu let a 


36 


In the Green Wood 


gal go tu ruin wi’out warnin’ arter 
what Tve suffered an’ know what I 
know ? ” 

“ You can’t mend what’s done an’ 
gone, woman, an’ what’s the good o’ 
your workin’ yourself up wi’ talkin’ 
on’t ? ” He covertly touched his fore- 
head with his finger as he went out 
the door, while she, not to be re- 
strained, continued: 

“ We had a gal as pooty to look on 
as yourn, our Polly, an’ she was all 
we had left to our old age arter that 
black day at William Henry, when my 
little son was tore from my arms by 
the bloody devils — Montcalm’s devils, 
may he an’ them burn in hell forever 
— tore from my arms, an’ brained be- 
fore my face an’ eyes. Oh, oh, the 
woeful sight! An’ Polly, she was 
spared to us, an’ when the wars was 
over they put Jerry an’ me an’ her on 
here to tak keer o’ what the’ was, an’ 


At Fort George 


37 


that black-hearted Phil Skene, he come 
here fishin’, him an’ the one they calls 
passon — a devil he is — an’ they set 
eyes on Polly.” 

The woman’s gray thin hair had 
fallen about her face in her excited 
movements, but she took no heed of 
it, going on with increasing distress : 

” An’ then the’ wa’n’t no rest nor 
peace for her, for that passon a-hengin’ 
round an’ makin’ love to her, an’ a-fill- 
in’ her head wi’ foolish idees o’ bein’ 
a lady ! Then one day aour gal went 
off a-gatherin’ posies, an’ Dash with 
her, an’ he come back, pore ol’ 
dog ” 

At the sound of his name the dog 
rose from his warm corner by the big 
fireplace, and, crossing to the woman, 
laid his head in her lap, as if to say 
he could make additions to the story 
if he had but speech. She stroked 
his head with her shaking hands ten- 


38 


In the Green Wood 


derly, as if it had been that of her 
murdered boy or of her lost Polly, but 
made no stop in her story. 

“He was a- whinin’ an’ a-moanin’, 
an’ she never come, never! They car- 
ried her away. I’d leivser a painter’d 
ketched her! No coaxin’ wouldn’t 
fetch her back, an’ there she is, pale 
an’ heart-broke, they say she is, as, 
God knows, I be. Don’t you let them 
black-hearted Skenes see your gal, for 
they’ll turn the world upside down to 
git their foul hands on a fair woman. 
There’s ghosts an’ devils an’ lost souls 
an’ onbaried corpses in that cussed 
house o’ theirn.’’ 

Lisbeth and her mother shuddered 
at the half-crazed woman’s wild tale 
and at the peril they had so barely 
escaped. 

As the daughter looked out of the 
barrack-chamber window on the moon- 
lit landscape of forest and lake the 


At Fort George 


39 


faithful old sentinel, Dash, was barking 
furiously, as Lisbeth at first thought, 
at the unaccustomed watch-fire and 
the strange figures of the kilted High- 
landers stalking near ; but her eye 
caught a more suspicious form skulk- 
ing in a shadow at the water’s edge, 
and directly after she saw a canoe 
stealing noiselessly away, keeping al- 
ways in shadow until far down the lake 
it struck across the water and van- 
ished in the uncertain glimmer. 

She lay awake long before she could 
divest herself of the idea that the 
stealthy figure she had seen was 
watching her, and that it was an In- 
dian in some way connected with the 
day’s adventure. 


IV 

THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND 

In the morning, as the teamsters 
began their slow journey back to Al- 
bany, the emigrants set forth on their 
easy route over unruffled waters, their 
departure watched by the solitary 
woman and her faithful dog. 

Beneath a cloudless sky, past un- 
counted nameless islands and moun- 
tains whose sheer steeps ascended 
from the lake’s windless depths to 
storm-scathed heights, they voyaged, 
shaking the inverted images of tree 
and cliff and shore with ripple of oar 
and wake till they quivered like ob- 
jects seen through heated air, or 
frightening a deer from drinking at 


The Old Battle-Ground 


41 


the water-side, or less timid wildfowl 
from some embayed retreat. 

At nightfall they reached the foot of 
the lake, where they made their camp 
for the night, keeping fires continually 
burning, not so much for warmth as 
for the cheer, for the black forest rang 
with the dismal howling of wolves 
and the horrible caterwauling of a 
panther, sounds so gruesome that the 
merry chime of the swift little river was 
quite overborne and hushed by them. 

Hearts were lightened when the 
morning came and the thrushes sang 
again, and the voice of the river re- 
sumed its noisy dominance. 

Presently the ox-teams, engaged 
by Colonel Reid, arrived, and were 
loaded with the machinery, household 
stuff, and the living freight of women 
and children, and the company moved 
forward on the last stage of its land 
journey. 


42 


In the Green Wood 


This led them through the scene 
of Abercrombie’s defeat, where the 
scarred trees and rotting abattis still 
remained to mark the place where a 
thousand lives were wasted. 

“ Here it was, Elspeth, your cousin, 
Duncan Cameron, died,” said Donald 
very seriously to his wife. 

” Wae’s the day, for he was a bon- 
nie gentleman,” said she. 

” Aweel, he had e’en mickle warnin' 
an’ might hae keepit the breath in his 
body if he wad,” said Donald. 

” But he valued honor mair than 
life, like a true Cameron,” she said 
proudly. 

” An’ gin he valued mair the 
opeenion o’ mortal man ner what 
Gude gie him, ’twas his ain affair; 
but du ye think if ’twas made plain 
to me I’d be drooned if I went 
ayont Ticonderogue, I’d nae bide 
here ? ” 


The Old Battle-Ground 


43 


“How was it, Uncle Donald ? “ 
said Lisbeth Cameron. 

“ E’en just this way. It was your 
father’s cousin, Fergus Cameron, and 
Stewart of Appin fell into some 
clavers, an’ Fergus gie Stewart the 
lee, an' Stewart oot wi’ his dirk an’ 
stabbed him to the heart. When his 
bluid cooled he was wae for the deed, 
for he kenned weel the claymore an’ 
skene dhu o’ every Cameron wad be 
thirsty for his ain bluid, an’ so what 
did he do but rin to the house o’ 
Duncan Cameron, the ain brother 
o’ the dead, an’ said he’d killed a 
man, an’ if Duncan wadna save him 
he’d be murthered by the dead man’s 
kin. 

“He had nae mair nor gien his word 
when his brother’s ghaist came till 
him, an’ tauld him his murtherer was 
lyin’ in his house, an’ he maun e’en 
gie him tae vengeance, or kill him wi’ 


44 


In the Green Wood 


his ain hand. But Duncan Cameron 
said he had gien his word, an’ the 
man should be safe frae a’ harm whiles 
he was under his roof. Then when 
that was a’ the answer he wad gie, the 
ghost tauld him he should dee at 
Ticonderoga. 

“ That was a strange name he never 
heard afore, an’ he didna ken where 
in a’ the wide warld it might be. And 
when he went to the wars in Europe 
an’ in India he was ae listenin’ for the 
name, but ne’er did he hear the like 
o’t. An’ sae at last his regiment, the 
Forty-second, it was, come till Amer- 
ica, an’ was sent wi’ Abercrombie 
away against the French, an’ at last 
he heard that the place they were 
marchin’ against wad be Ticonderoga, 
an’ he kenned weel the day o’ his 
doom was nigh. An’ it was the next 
day he fell wi’ a dozen French bullets 
through his body, as he was leadin’ 


The Old Battle-Ground 


45 


his company in the charge against the 
abattis.” 

“ Ma puir Cousin Duncan said 
Jeanette in a low voice. 

“ Tm proud he was our kin," said 
Lisbeth with tears glistening in her 
blue eyes, " an', uncle, he couldna 
turn his back on Ticonderoga, an’ him 
ane o’ the Forty-second.’’ 

" I’ve heard my father tell o’ the 
fight,’’ said one of the teamsters, who 
was paying more attention to the story 
than to his oxen. " He was in the 
Rangers under ol’ Put. Always arter 
that, he said, they called the general 
Nabby Crombie.’’ 

"And yon’s the fort itsen,’’ said 
Donald, coming to the end of his 
story as the gray walls of Ticonderoga 
arose before them, with the proud 
banner of England flaunting from its 
tall flag-staff. 

" It’s a bonnie flag where’er it flies, ’’ 


46 


In the Green Wood 


said the old clansman, saluting, “ but 
ne'er looked sae bonnie to my een as 
when I saw it first whippin' the wind 
ower the wa’s o' Quebec." 

" How did it look at Culloden?" 
asked Elspeth demurely, with a know- 
ing glance at her niece. 

" I didnae say it was ae the bon- 
niest," Donald answered laconically, 
and began softly to whistle, " Wha’ll 
be king but Charlie ? " 


AT TICONDEROGA 


As Colonel Reid and his companion 
came over the same route by water 
and land a few hours before the High- 
landers, the carrier told of the strange 
adventure of the previous day, whereat 
the testy Colonel's indignation broke 
forth in frequent explosions. 

‘ ‘ The scoundrels ! " he cried. ‘ ‘ An’ 
what did ye say was the livery ? Oh, 
aye! Philip Skene’s men they were, 
sure enough. Troth, but ye did a 
good part to spoil their plot, for Lis- 
beth’s a fine lass, an’ I’d sooner lose 
half my grant than hae owt harm come 
to her.” 

Tom was beginning to think she 


48 


In the Green Wood 


was worth that much, but did not 
venture to say so. 

“ I hae a Hieland laddie in mind 
wha’ll be just the mate for her, an’ I 
maun e’en get them married so she’ll 
hae ane to care for her better than the 
fule o’ a father. A gude eneuch mon 
wi’ a miln, but nae sense ayont that. 
Aye, I’ll e’en hae them married wi’out 
delay. Is there a chaplain at the fort, 
I wonder ? ” 

“ No, the chaplain is gone to Mon- 
treal for these two months,” Tom re- 
plied, and he hoped there was no 
clergyman within a hundred miles, 
while his heart burned with jealousy 
of every unmarried Highlander in the 
company. 

” Aweel, there’s need eneuch o’ ane 
at the fort, I’se warrant, forbye wed- 
din’s,” said the Colonel, and then as 
his thoughts turned again to the 
Skenes: ” Oh, the scoundrels, the 


At Ticonderoga 


49 


baith o’ them ! An’ now I hear auld 
Phil is at His Majesty’s lug, prayin’ 
to hae the country frae the Connecti- 
cut to the mountains west o’ the lake 
erected into a new province, wi’ him- 
seP for Governor, an’ then like it’ll be 
deil tak my grant.” 

” Where might your grant be that 
these folks is goin’ to ? ” Tom asked, 
striving to mask his interest with an 
air of indifference. 

” Down the lake a bit, maybe a mat- 
ter o’ fifty, maybe a hunder mile,” the 
Colonel answered. 

” On which side was you sayin’, 
sir ? ” 

” Nae, I was nae sayin’. It might 
be the ain side an’ might be t’ither,” 
was answered no more to the point. 
” Trouble eneuch it’s like to gie me, 
what wi’ those domned Skenes an’ 
domned Yankees.” 

“I’m one o’ them, Connecticut 


50 


In the Green Wood 


born/’ said Tom, flushing hotly. “ I 
’spect my folks is somewhere on the 
grants, leastways they was cal’latin’ to 
make a pitch the last I heard of ’em.” 

” Aweel, lad. I’ll no be blamin’ ye 
for the misfortune o’ birth, an’ if your 
folks hae taken land under a New 
York charter they be a’ richt,” said 
the other, and with that the subject 
was dropped. 

The old battle-ground was a place 
of sad interest to Colonel Reid, for of 
all the troops engaged in that futile, 
heroic assault none suffered such loss 
as his own regiment, the Forty-second 
Highlanders, or Black Watch. 

1 Sadly and silently he walked among 
the herbage that sprang in rank pro- 
fusion from soil enriched by the blood 
of his own people, and with reverent 
care avoided crushing the wild flowers 
that bloomed where their brave lives 
went out. 


At Ticonderoga 


51 


Tom delivered the mail at the fort, 
where he had then two days to wait 
for the commandant to make ready 
some reports to his superiors. The 
emigrants had also to wait for boats, 
but the delay was not irksome to at 
least two persons whom it concerned. 

As Tom was strolling along the 
shore in front of the fort, a shadow 
fluttered across the way, and, looking 
up, he saw Lisbeth Cameron standing 
on the bank above him, blushing and 
starting back at coming upon him so 
suddenly. 

Gude e’en to you. Mister Pang- 
born,” she said, returning his saluta- 
tion, and then, for lack of something 
to break an awkward silence, she 
asked, pointing down to the muddy 
wavelets that lapped the stony beach. 
Is a’ the loch sae drumlie ? ” 

” Drumlie ? I don’t know as I 
ezac’ly understand.” 


52 


In the Green Wood 


‘‘ Is it nae clear onywhere ? They 
say there’s mair than a hunder miles 

0 t. 

“ Oh, yes, it is clear enough when 
you get to Crown P’int, which I was 
never much beyond, though it runs 
clear to Canada, as you may see by 
this.” 

He took from his pocket a flat pow- 
der-horn, upon which a map of the 
lake and its tributaries was etched in 
black lines. She came down the bank 
beside him to study it. 

” How far down the lake might 
your folks be goin’ ? ” 

” I dinna ken,” she said. 

” You’re as close-mouthed about it 
as your Colonel,” said Tom with some 
show of pique. 

” I canna tell, he winna. I think 
he’s afraid Governor Wentworth’s 
people’ll be gien us trouble. A’ 

1 ken is we’ll be gaen to some river 


At Ticonderoga 53 

ayont t’ither fort. I’d tell ye gin I 
kenned.” 

Their hands touched as they traced 
together the course of the rivers, and 
their quickened pulses revealed what 
their lips did not tell. Open confes- 
sion might soon have followed, for the 
course of their love ran swift, but they 
heard Jeanette Cameron call from the 
bank above. 

” Lisbeth, Lisbeth! Come, lassie, 
an’ see the soldiers parade.” 

” Well, wherever they go I shall 
soon follow,” said Tom to himself as 
Lisbeth disappeared with her mother, 
for he knew that Colonel Reid was a 
masterful man, and would push the 
suit of his protege the harder if he sus- 
pected a rival in the field, and him one 
of the pestiferous Yankees. 

After the manner of lovers from 
time immemorial, Tom and Lisbeth 
went mooning about during their stay 


54 


In the Green Wood 


at the fort, mostly apart, because the 
eyes of their elders watched them too 
closely. She chanced to be walking 
at dusk on the shore near the Grena- 
dier Battery alone, save one little boy 
of the garrison, her chosen escort, be- 
cause having him was nearest being 
alone. 

Small need was there for any escort 
now that the war was over, and the 
neighborhood of the fort as safe as 
any part of His Majesty’s province of 
New York, with no one near but a 
few scattered settlers, busy with their 
own warfare against nature, or per- 
chance some solitary Indian hunter 
fallen into the paths of peace. The 
moon’s coming shone in the eastern 
sky, and touched the crest of Sugar 
Loaf with its first radiance. All 
else, forest, shore, and field, was in 
shadow, save where a ripple of the 
lake caught and reflected the growing 


At Ticonderoga 


55 


brightness of the sky or a gleam of 
light from some lamp or lantern at 
the fort. 

As Lisbeth passed from the shadow 
of the crumbling wall of the battery 
a pebble or a loosened fragment of 
mortar rolled down the slope and 
struck the water with a splash. She 
turned, idly watching the widening 
circles of wavelets, when suddenly 
rude hands were laid on her; a half- 
uttered cry was smothered on her lips ; 
they were muffled in the close-bound 
folds of a greasy, smoky sash; her 
hands were tied behind her; she was 
hurried down the bank and lifted into 
a canoe, and it was thrice its length 
from shore — all so quickly that she 
had not time to think what had hap- 
pened. 

Her young attendant saw it all in a 
dazed unreality, and ran screaming to 
the fort, while the canoe, impelled by 


56 


In the Green Wood 


the strong, skilful arms of two sullen- 
visaged Waubanakees, went, swiftly 
and noiselessly southward, and was 
soon in the sinuous marsh-bordered 
channel of the upper lake. 


VI 


THE RESCUE 

“ Oh, mammy, mammy,” screamed 
Patsey Donnelly, rushing into the bar- 
rack-room, where his mother was cook- 
ing his father’s supper, who sat hun- 
grily awaiting its preparation, ” there’s 
two big red nagurs come an’ shtole 
the pretty Scotch gyurl, an’ carrit her 
away in a boat on the lake ! ’ ’ 

” What fool’s shtory is that ye bees 
tellin’ ?” she demanded gruffly, and 
Patsey repeated the strange tale. 

Sergeant Donnelly ran out and gave 
the alarm, which caused a great com- 
motion among garrison and visitors. 
When Captain Delaplace compre- 
hended the cause of it, he at once or- 
dered the sergeant and four men to 


58 


In the Green Wood 


go in pursuit, to which service Tom 
volunteered, and, hastily picking up 
his rifle, ran to the boat, followed by 
John Cameron. 

Taking the direction of the abduc- 
tors from the boy’s relation of the 
event, the boat went surging along its 
course as fast as four oars could drive 
it. The canoe had a half-hour’s start, 
and her lightness gave her a further 
advantage, but the heavier craft’s 
superior motive power began to tell, 
and Tom, sitting in the bow with rifle 
in hand, saw the wake of the birch 
shaking the waters just ahead of 
him. 

“ Pull, men,” he whispered, ” we’ll 
overhaul ’em in five minutes.” 

” Yis, an’ be domned to thim,” 
growled the sergeant at the tiller; 
“an’ me sooper just ready to sarve. 
I’ll take it out o’ their dirthy pelts 
wance I gets howld o’ them.” 


The Rescue 


59 


“ The fause loons,” said John Cam- 
eron, ” what for wad they steal my 
lass ? Pit a ball intil their waims, 
lad, but mind ye dinna harm the 
lassie. ” 

” You don’t need to tell that,” said 
Tom, watching intently ahead, still 
noting the tremor of the rushes as the 
miniature whirlpools twisted among 
them, and listening to the frequent 
rising of water-fowl before the advanc- 
ing canoe. 

” They won’t show no fight,” said 
he at length, ” but they’ll try to give 
us the slip in some o’ the cricks.” 

Just as he foretold, the canoe, ply- 
ing swiftly and silently up the chan- 
nel, suddenly turned aside into the 
smaller channel of a tributary, and, 
reaching a bend, lay silent and motion- 
less as a hiding wild duck until the 
passing craft shot past. Tom soon 
noticed that water-fowl were now ris- 


6o 


In the Green Wood 


ing before their own boat, and that 
the channel was no longer wrinkled 
by any wake but theirs, and therefore 
called a halt. 

“They’re a-hidin’ behind us,” he 
said, “ but they can’t make no land- 
ing up that crick. Back up a mite, 
kerful an’ still. ’’ 

In obedience to this the boat backed 
water till within a short distance of 
the channel just passed, and there lay 
silently upon her oars, while Tom, 
with a rifle at a ready, peered cau- 
tiously over the tops of the sedges. 
The rising moon struck the wide marsh 
with bars of moonlight and shadow, 
and he presently discovered three mo- 
tionless heads, the middle one droop- 
ing dejectedly. 

Now they moved cautiously, and 
presently emerged into full view, the 
yellow body of the canoe moving 
stealthily toward the mouth of the 


The Rescue 


6i 


creek. Tom raised his rifle, aimed 
carefully at the water-line, aided by 
the long slanting moonbeams touch- 
ing the glittering gun-sight and the 
surface of the water. He fired, and 
there was a startled movement of 
the figures as the bullet struck its 
mark. 

The Indians arose as of one accord 
and leaped far into the marsh, and 
the scuttled canoe began to settle 
slowly. 

“Row, row, for dear life!” Tom 
shouted, and the boat swept toward 
the birch as she sank to her gunwales, 
and then Tom, lifting the limp form 
on board, held the dear head in his 
lap one happy moment while he un- 
bound the muffled mouth. 

The soldiers arose and fired a hasty 
volley at the wallowing forms, ineffec- 
tual, but to hasten their floundering 
retreat, and then with a defiant yell 


62 


In the Green Wood 


the Indians vanished in the thick 
shadow of the woods. 

The damaged canoe was lifted 
aboard the larger craft, and the res- 
cue party began its return to the fort, 
where an hour later it was received 
by a jubilant company assembled en 
masse to welome it with shouts of re- 
joicing and endless questions. 

Lisbeth’s mother and aunt took her 
in charge. Tom was the hero of the 
hour, and the sergeant’s wife called 
out to him : 

“ Coom, sarjeant, yer sooper’ll be 
gettin’ cowld on ye.” 

” Now, Captain Delaplace,” said 
Colonel Reid, “if ye dinna ca’ back 
yon chaplain body I’ll e’en hae a mili- 
tary weddin’, an’ gie the lass a gude 
Hieland man to guard her, for I’ll no 
hae her makin’ sic a steer. An’ I’ll 
gie yon Skenes a bit o’ my mind, an’ 
report them till His Majesty,” for no 


The Rescue 63 

one doubted who were the instigators 
of the rape. 

Thereupon the testy Colonel in- 
dited an indignant protest to Major 
Philip Skene, commanding at Skenes- 
borough House in the absence of his 
father at Court, against his lawless 
ways, and threatening him with ex- 
posure if they were not stopped. 

The next morning the boats for 
transportation were ready, and the 
Highlanders embarked for their home 
in the wilderness. For all the sadness 
of parting in apparent coldness, the 
misty future was bright as Lisbeth 
watched the lone figure of Tom Pang- 
born on the old Grenadier Battery 
fade into the gray of the crumbling 
walls, and the light of hope and love 
was in his eyes as they followed the 
retreating batteaux, until he could no 
longer distinguish her tall, graceful 
figure in the crowded boat as the gay 


64 


In the Green Wood 


colors of the tartan grew blurred and 
dim, and the receding craft were blent 
with the receding shores and shrank 
to mere dots on the far-off blue of the 
lake. 


VII 


DISPOSSESSED 

One bright June morning, while 
Mercy was guarding the sprouting 
corn from the thieving crows, John 
tended the mill. He gazed abstract- 
edly up the shining current of the 
river as he waited for the saw to cut 
its way through the log. A muskrat 
with a willow branch in its mouth was 
cutting the glassy surface with a 
curved wake from shore to shore. 
Now he watched with greater interest 
a lithe, tawny form that stole along 
the willowy bank, or glided through 
the shaded water beneath the over- 
hanging boughs, disappearing here, 
reappearing there. This John knew 
was an otter, whose name, Waubana- 
5 


66 


In the Green Wood 


kee, Frenchmen and Englishmen had 
given to this noble river. Then he 
noticed his father sitting in the door, 
to appearance a listless figure, though 
he knew how irksome was the enforced 
idleness. 

“ Poor father,” he thought, ” he 
must have a doctor some way. We’ve 
tried every root and herb we ever 
heard of, and they don’t do any good. 
I must go to mill in two or three days 
anyhow, and I’ll get a doctor if there’s 
one to be found. What a job it is to 
go to mill, clear to Crown P’int, 
twenty miles through the woods ! 
Well, when father gets a run o’ stones 
in here there’ll be an end o’ that 
bother, anyway.” 

So his thoughts were running when 
he felt his shoulder lightly touched, 
and turning with the expectation of 
seeing his mother or sister, he was 
startled to find himself confronted by a 


Dispossessed 


67 


resolute-looking little man of military 
bearing, attended by half a dozen tall, 
strong-featured men dressed in a 
strange fashion, with broad-topped 
blue caps upon their heads and short 
plaid skirts that scarcely reached to 
their bare knees, which were exposed 
above their stockings. Each carried 
a gun and wore in his belt a long dirk, 
while two or three carried at their side 
huge basket-hilted broadswords. The 
man was speaking in evident excite- 
ment, but John could not hear a word 
till the saw had run its course, the 
lever was tripped, and the clatter of 
the mill ceased. 

“ What a damnable clatter the ma- 
chine makes ! cried the man angrily; 
“ and who dared build it on my prop- 
erty ? Who built it, I say ? Speak ! 

“ My father built it," John an- 
swered calmly, though he felt his 
heart sinking out of him. " These 


68 


In the Green Wood 


must be the terrible Yorkers,” he 
thought, though he had never imag- 
ined they were this manner of men, so 
different from any he had ever seen. 

” What’s his name, and where is 
he ? Did he skulk awa’ when he saw 
us ? ” 

” No, sir,” said John hotly, ” he’s 
sick at home yonder, where you will 
find him. His name is James Pang- 
born.” 

” Well, Mr. James Pangborn must 
get himself out of this. Come on, my 
lads!” 

He spoke rapidly to his followers in 
Gaelic, a language stranger to John’s 
ears than that of the Waubanakees, 
which he had at least heard before. 
The martial little gentleman step- 
ped briskly down the path to the 
house with his tall Highlanders at 
his heels and John following close in 
their rear. 




Dispossessed 


69 


James Pangborn arose with an effort 
to receive his visitors, while his wife 
came to his side and the wondering 
children clustered behind them, peep- 
ing from the shelter of their mother’s 
skirts and between the father’s knees. 

I am Colonel Reid of His Maj- 
esty’s service,” began the gentleman, 
introducing himself without the civil- 
ity of a salutation, ” and you, I am 
told, are one Pangborn, and, as I see, 
established without my authority on 
my possessions. You know well 
enough you have no right here, and 
I’ve no words to waste about the mat- 
ter. Get your gear out of the house 
and be off with you ! ” 

James Pangborn’s pale face flushed 
with anger, yet his temper and voice 
were under control as he answered : 

” It’s a short notice, Colonel, for 
women and children and a sick man 
to be turned out in the woods on. I 


70 


In the Green Wood 


made the pitch in good faith, and have 
made the improvements in fulfilment 
of my obligations to the proprietors, 
and Tm loth to give them up for 
nothing.” 

” ril tell you, man, Tve no time 
for clavers,” said Colonel Reid an- 
grily. ” You came here without my 
leave, and you’ve naething to expect 
and naething you’ll get. You may 
be thankful to take your gear with 
you, for it’s more than you deserve. 
Be off with you ! ” 

Susan Pangborn pleaded with a tear- 
ful voice for a little delay until they 
could find some place of shelter for 
her sick husband and the children, 
but the Colonel’s heart was not soft- 
ened. A kindly faced Highlander, 
who, with four or five others, had just 
come up the old Indian Carrying Place 
and joined the party, plucked him by 
the sleeve and said in a low voice : 


Dispossessed 7 1 

“ I wadna be unceevil, Colonel, but 
what for no let the puir bodies bide a 
wee ? The mon’s sair ill, sure eneuch, 
puir deevil.” 

“ Mind your own affairs, Donald 
McIntosh,” said the Colonel testily. 
” The weather’s fine, and it’ll not hurt 
the man to travel on horseback, for I 
see he has a beastie. Now turn to, 
my lads, and set the gear outside. 
We’ll speed their parting. Lend a 
hand, Donald, and you shall have 
the house for yourself and Lizzie 
and the boys. Come, man, stir your- 
self.” 

” I’ll hae naething to do wi’ tekin’ 
ither folks’ shelter,” said Donald. 
” I can big my ain bield.” He lin- 
gered a moment near the sick man 
and said in a gentle voice : ” My heart 
is sair for ye, puir bodies. I wad I 
could help ye, but I canna, I canna. 
It’s a damnable steer.” 


72 


In the Green Wood 


He looked curiously at the distressed 
family and hurried away down the 
path to the landing, where the bat- 
teaux were unloading the goods of the 
party, and where most of the women 
of the company remained. 

“ Faith," said he to himself as 
he clambered down the rough trail, 
“ these puir deevils are akin to the 
carrier. Their lukes an’ their name 
are his verra ain. He might be helpfu’ 
to them, but I’m glad he’s no here. 
I wad they were wi’ him.’’ 

“ Lisbeth,’’ he said, finding the girl 
a little apart gazing intently up at the 
majestic falls, “ these be your friend 
Tom’s folks I’se be thinkin’. Puir 
bodies! But there’s naething we can 
do. John Reid taks nae advice fro’ 
onybody,’’ and Donald helped vigor- 
ously at unloading the boats, while 
Lisbeth, in a quick feminine flash 
comprehending the import of his 


Dispossessed 73 

words, was heart-sick for the harried 
settlers. 

“ Wha’d think so good a soldier 
wad be such a silly fool ?” said Colo- 
nel Reid as Donald marched away 
down the hill. “ But bear a hand, 
men.” There were more willing 
hands than Donald’s, and in a few 
moments the scant household goods 
of the Pangborns were tumbled out 
of doors. 

It was a strangely wild and pitiful 
scene. The stern-faced, picturesquely 
garbed Highlanders passed in and out 
bearing household stuff, which they 
threw in careless heaps. Two or three 
of the women strolled up and looked 
impassively if curiously at the dispos- 
sessed settlers, exchanging occasional 
words with the men. The Colonel, 
standing in a stiff military attitude, 
gave brief imperative orders, scarcely 
noticing the sick man and his family. 


74 


In the Green Wood 


In inexpressible anxiety Mrs. Pang- 
born now wrapped another blanket 
around her husband, now parcelled 
out articles they could not leave, now 
comforted the huddled group of little 
children, whom Mercy strove in vain 
to quiet. All about them was the 
dark wall of the forest echoing the 
continual roar of the cataract and the 
occasional sharper reverberation of 
harsh voices. 

“You're such a help to mother! 
What should I do without you ? ” she 
said as she handed the bed-cord to 
John, who was striving to pack some 
bedding on the horse’s back. “ Oh, if 
your brother Tom was only here, but 
where he is we don’t even know,” and 
the mother sighed, looking at her sick 
husband and her stripling son. Alas! 
Tom was far away, little knowing their 
need of his strong arm and clear head. 
“Where shall we go?” the mother 


Dispossessed 


75 


continued. “ Father can't ride far, 
and I’m afraid to have him sleep out 
of doors.” 

” Well, I’ve thought of a good place 
’at I’ll tell you about as soon as we 
get away from these folks so they 
won’t hear,” he answered. 

” You’re such a comfort, Johnny ! ” 
said his mother. At these words 
the boy swallowed the lump in his 
throat and worked with redoubled 
zeal. 

The sick man was helped on the 
horse with bundles before and behind, 
John led the way with the gun and all 
the other burdens he could carry, and 
behind trudged the mother and the 
other children, each bearing an appor- 
tioned lading. Even the four-year- 
old Jimmy carried manfully the long- 
handled frying-pan on his shoulder, 
and under his arm the cold johnny- 
cake left over from breakfast, and each 


76 


In the Green Wood 


bore away the heavy burden of a sick 
heart. 

Yet this summary ejectment was 
but an ordinary incident of the troub- 
lous times during the bitter strife 
waged for years between the rival 
claimants of the New Hampshire 
grants. 

The forsaken home was a mile be- 
hind them, and the thunder of the 
falls was sinking to a hollow murmur, 
when John halted where a faint trail 
led away from the blazed path. 

“ The best thing we can do," he 
said, “ is to go to the old shanty the 
trappers left last winter. It won't 
take much fixin’ up," and he led the 
way along the faint trail till it brought 
them to a shanty of logs roofed with 
bark, that needed little repairing to 
keep out summer showers. 

The sick man was helped from his 
horse, the bedding was carried in, a 


Dispossessed 


77 


fire was lighted on the ample hearth, 
and the place soon wore an air of 
greater comfort than at first seemed 
possible. John spent the day patch- 
ing the roof with fresh-peeled bark 
and in gathering wood. 


VIII 


FINDING FRIENDS 

The night was passed in tolerable 
comfort by the outcasts in the hunt- 
ers’ shanty, but the father seemed so 
much worse in the morning that, after 
a hasty breakfast, John announced his 
intention of making a journey to the 
settlements. 

“ Father’s got to have a doctor, and 
we’ve got to have help to get away 
from here, or get back to our belong- 
ings,” he said with such decision that 
there was little opposition, for such 
severe backwoods training as he had 
received early brought forth fruits of 
manliness and self-reliance. 

The sun had scarcely touched the 
treetops and the forest path was still 


Finding Friends 


79 


vaguely defined in the morning twi- 
light when he set forth, mounted on 
the horse and armed with an old pis- 
tol. Presently he was upon the blazed 
path from which they had diverged 
the day before, and the silence of the 
primeval forest closed around him. 

As he journeyed on the sense of 
complete isolation and loneliness grew 
more oppressive. There was no sign 
of recent human presence except the 
unhealed axe-marks that lined the 
trail, and here and there a rain-washed 
footprint of a horse, long since im- 
pressed in the mould, which was often 
further obliterated by the later im- 
print of a bear’s foot or the broad 
hoof of a moose. So continued was 
the silence that he would have almost 
been glad of some alarming sound to 
break it, other than the monotonous 
sweep of the breeze in the treetops 
and the steady footfalls of the horse. 


8o 


In the Green Wood 


He felt grateful for the companionship 
of the chickadees that now and then 
attended him, flitting beside or perch- 
ing before him on the undergrowth or 
the low branches, and he was glad to 
hear the tapping of a woodpecker in- 
dustriously chiselling his way to the 
wormy heart of a tree. So he wended 
on, diverging a little to pass a huge 
fallen tree or to skirt the frequent 
quagmires, till a glimpse of the sun 
through the leafy roof of the woods 
showed it midway in its course. Then 
he dismounted and ate his scant ration 
of cold johnny-cake, while the horse 
browsed among the undergrowth, and 
in half an hour he resumed his lonely 
journey. 

The shadows thickened around him, 
and, looking back from the top of a 
little hill, he saw the last rays of the 
setting sun shining on the lofty ridge 
of Snake Mountain, whose foot he 


Finding Friends 


8i 


had for some two miles skirted, but 
was now well past. He began to look 
forward anxiously for the light of a 
clearing to open before him, where he 
should find the home of a settler and 
lodging for the night, but no such 
welcome sight greeted his eyes. 

The early twilight was thickening 
to dusk ; he could scarcely discern the 
blaze upon the trees ; even their trunks 
were disappearing into a mass of gloom 
under their dark canopy. The neces- 
sity of passing the night alone in the 
forest was forcing itself upon him. 
Far away and faintly, but unmistak- 
able in its swelling and dying cadence, 
he heard the long howl of a wolf, and 
presently the answering wail tremu- 
lously rising on the night air. 

The prospect of having such com- 
panions around his bivouac was dis- 
mal, but apparently not to be avoided. 
The horse’s feet splashed in a brook 
6 


82 


In the Green Wood 


that John could barely see the glim- 
mer of where it ran beneath him across 
the trail. Here he thought might be 
a good camping-place, with water con- 
venient for himself and horse. 

He was about to dismount upon the 
bank when his eye caught the flicker- 
ing light of a fire flashing across his 
path and on the trees not many rods 
beyond. Listening, he heard voices 
in ordinary conversation, and, advanc- 
ing cautiously, he presently discov- 
ered a group of men sitting and stand- 
ing around a camp-fire. 

Some were frizzling slices of meat 
on forked sticks. One sat bent over 
a gun laid across his knees, intently 
cleaning it in the firelight, and an- 
other tall and strongly built figure 
stood in massive silhouette against the 
light. There were horses, too, for 
John could hear them stamping and 
snorting and champing their fodder. 


Finding Friends 


83 


a sound that his own horse no sooner 
recognized than he answered with a 
loud neigh. The men became sud- 
denly alert and silent, each desisting 
from his employment and looked in- 
tently in one direction, while the tall 
man came forward, peering into the 
darkness, his eyes shaded by his hol- 
lowed hands. 

“ Who goes there ? he called in a 
deep, clear voice. 

It’s me,” John answered in his 
boyish treble, not knowing whether 
these were friends or enemies, and 
knowing if they were the latter there 
was no chance of escaping them. 

” Why, it’s a woman or a boy,” 
said one of the men, who advanced 
a little with his gun at a ready. 

” Well, who is * me’ ?” the tall 
man asked pleasantly as he drew near 
the young traveller. 

"I’m James Pangborn’s boy from 


84 


In the Green Wood 


New Haven Falls,” and added, well 
knowing that he must give some 
plausible reason for his journeying, 
” Fm going to find a doctor for 
father.” 

” James Pangborn ?” said the tall 
stranger. ” Why, I know him right 
well. Come, you must camp with us 
to-night,” and, taking the horse by 
the bridle, he led it and the rider into 
the full light of the fire. ” It’s Pang- 
born’s son from the Falls, boys,” he 
said by way of introduction. 

The men each gave a nod or word 
of kindly welcome. The man clean- 
ing his gun, and who, John noticed, 
had lost his left thumb, looked at 
him intently a moment, and then 
turned his keen eyes and ready hands 
again to what was clearly a labor of 
love. 

” And we,” said the tall man, turn- 
ing his handsome face up to his young 


Finding Friends 


85 


guest with a genial smile — “ well, to 
lump us, we’re boys, too — Green 
Mountain Boys. You’ve heard of us 
from your father, no doubt. Come, 
’light, and have a bite with us. Doug- 
lass, you take his horse, won’t you, 
and give him a feed along with ours ? ” 

John was given a comfortable seat 
by the fire (whose heat was welcome, 
for the night was almost frosty in spite 
of the season), right thankful to find 
himself among friends and in such 
comfortable quarters. These were 
the very men to whom he looked to 
redress his father’s wrongs. Surely 
he could not have been more favored 
than by this happy chance. His 
kindly host, who was evidently the 
leader of this little band, sat down 
beside him and began to question him 
concerning his father. 

“ You said he wants a doctor. Is 
he sick or hurt ? ” 


86 


In the Green Wood 


John told him all that he could of 
his father’s illness, prompted to many 
particulars by intelligent and thought- 
ful questions. His host sat for a while 
in silence, and then suddenly starting 
from his reverie: 

“ The Yorkers haven’t troubled 
your father so far?” 

” I don’t know what they be, but 
there was a lot of such men as I never 
see afore, dressed in checkered petti- 
coats, and talkin’ in a way I couldn’t 
make nothin’ of, ’at come yeste’day 
with a little soldier-lookin’ man that 
said his name was Reid, and they 
drove us all off int’ the woods, and if 
it hadn’t been for a trappin’ shanty 
that I knew of, father’d be layin’ out- 
doors in the cold to-night, and he’d 
ha’ died.” 

The relaxation of the strain that he 
had been under so many hours quite 
overcame him, and his voice broke. 


Finding Friends 


87 


and he covered his face with his hands. 
He felt the hand of the stranger laid 
on his shoulder as tenderly as his 
mother’s. 

“You are a good, brave boy,’’ said 
he in a low voice, and then in a tone 
of indignation addressed his compan- 
ions: “ Boys, do you hear what he 
says ? The Yorkers have made a raid 
on the Falls, and driven Pangborn into 
the woods, and he sick of the fever. 
It’s that Colonel Reid with his gang 
of bare-legged Highlanders as near 
as I can make out. How many are 
there, John ? ’’ 

“ Fifteen men I counted, and a lot 
o’ women and young ones,’’ the boy 
answered, his face still covered. 

“ They are too many for us,’’ .said 
the leader, “ two to one, and fighting 
Highlanders at that.’’ 

“We can pick them off from the 
woods and git ’em to even numbers,’’ 


88 


In the Green Wood 


said the man who had been cleaning 
the gun, critically examining his fin- 
ished work as he spoke. 

“ No," said the leader with sharp 
decision, “ we’ll have no bloodshed. 
Baker, till we’re driven to it, to save 
our lives.’’ 

" They hain’t so partic’lar,’’ said 
the other, holding up the stump 
of his thumb with a significant ges- 
ture. 

“ Their ways are not our ways. 
No, we’ll raise so many of our friends 
that they will not dare to make a 
stand against us. In the morning you 
and Cochran and the others will go 
south and raise our people, as many 
as you can. I will go back with our 
young friend to his father. I think I 
can do something for him. The sur- 
veyor and his party are disposed of, 
and we’ve only this job to attend to. 
Now let’s eat our supper and get to 


Finding Friends 89 

sleep and be ready for our early 
start.” 

Nothing could have tasted sweeter 
to John than the curled slice of friz- 
zled pork and the rye and Indian bread 
that were given him. When the rude 
repast was finished some of the men 
sat about the fire discussing the pro- 
posed plan of operations as they 
smoked their pipes, while others be- 
took themselves to their blankets. 
Among them was the man with the 
maimed hand, who carefully wrapped 
his gun in the edge of his blanket. 
This care was noticed by one of his 
comrades, who said with a chuckle : 

“ That gun o' yours '11 be the death 
on you yet, 'Member. I most wonder 
you don’t set up all night with it.” 

” A bush fighter’s gun’s his best 
friend, an’ he can’t be too ch’ice 
on’t,” answered the other, and added, 
addressing the leader : ‘ ‘ Call me in two 


90 


In the Green Wood 


hours, Cap’n, an’ I’ll take a turn on 
guard.” 

” ril take the first,” the captain 
said, ” and now turn in, all of you. 
Roll yourself in my blanket, John, 
and go to sleep. You must be tired 
enough.” 

The boy’s sleepy eyes closed on the 
solitary figure sitting by the waning 
camp-fire with rifle in hand, and with 
the distant cry of the wolf in his ears 
he fell into a deep slumber. 

The little camp was astir at an early 
hour, and after breakfast the horses 
were saddled, and with a few brief in- 
structions from the captain the men 
filed into the path southward under 
the lead of Baker. 

Now, John,” said the captain 
when all had departed, ” we’ll be off 
for New Haven Falls.” 

” But,” said the boy, ” I must get 
a doctor.” 


Finding Friends 


91 


“ Oh, I’m as good a doctor as you’re 
likely to find this side of Bennington, 
and I’m going with you.” 

” I never heard tell o’ Mr. Ethan 
Allen bein’ a doctor,” John blurted 
out in amazement, ” and I’ve been 
guessing you’re him.” 

An amused smile lighted the sedate 
features of his companion. 

” No,” said he, ” Ethan Allen 
wouldn’t feel flattered by your mis- 
take, and I think he’d rather under- 
take to doctor a man’s soul after his 
fashion than his body. No, I’m only 
a captain under him. My name’s 
Warner — Seth Warner. Now let’s 
be off.” 

They mounted and rode on. Cap- 
tain Warner generally leading the way, 
except where the trail widened to let 
them ride side by side. His keen 
eyes seemed to note everything, but 
most particularly the wayside plants. 


92 


In the Green Wood 


In search of some, he frequently dis- 
mounted and made excursions from 
the path, and, having gathered what 
he wished, he bound them carefully 
in a bundle at his saddle bow. Mean- 
while he beguiled the journey with 
such pleasant chat that when, before 
nightfall, John led the way into the 
obscure bypath that led to the shanty, 
he could scarcely realize that this day’s 
travel had been over the same route 
he had yesterday so wearily wended. 

He found his father much worse for 
the excitement and anxiety, but gladly 
surprised to have him returned so soon 
and accompanied by his old friend 
Warner. After a brief greeting and 
some questioning and examination of 
the patient’s condition, Captain War- 
ner began brewing a decoction of his 
carefully selected herbs, and presently 
administered a copious dose. 

“ I never thought,” said Pangborn, 


Finding Friends 


93 


making a wry face over the draught, 

when we was huntin’ on the Ben- 
nington hills, that you’d ever be 
a-doctorin’ me in this wilderness, wi' 
the herbs you was always s’archin' 
after and tastin’on. I guess you found 
all the bitter ones, and have gin me 
the benefit of ’em.” 

” I hope you will get the benefit of 
them, and that before long. Now get 
into your blankets and keep still. I 
won’t let you talk even about old 
times. For the present leave that to 
Mrs. Pangborn and me.” 

The patient showed a decided im- 
provement in the morning, and, leav- 
ing him quietly sleeping. Captain War- 
ner, with John for a guide, went out 
to reconnoitre the camp of the in- 
vaders. When they had crept to the 
brow of the hill that overlooked the 
Falls from the left bank a busy scene 
was presented. 


94 


In the Green Wood 


Several log-houses were rapidly go- 
ing up. Some of the Highlanders 
were clearing land, and others were 
putting in crops on every available 
foot of Pangborn’s clearing. Another 
party was engaged at the mill, appar- 
ently fitting up a part of it as a grist- 
mill. Here and there, in active super- 
intendence of all, moved the brisk lit- 
tle figure of Colonel Reid. The two 
crept cautiously away, and, returning 
to the shanty, reported all they had 
seen to its inmates. 

“ But never you mind, James," 
Warner said, noting his friend’s trou- 
bled face. " They’re working for 
you, if they did but know it, and it 
isn’t every sick man that has such 
strong hands to work for him. You’ve 
nothing to do but keep quiet and get 
well, which you are in a fair way to 
do.’’ 

Warner spent the remainder of the 


Finding Friends 


95 


day in helping John repair the shanty, 
and succeeded in making it a comfort- 
able abode for people used to the exi- 
gencies of pioneer life. Next morn- 
ing, having given full directions for 
the treatment of his patient with a 
plentiful supply of proper herbs. Cap- 
tain Warner departed southward. 


IX 


WARNING 

Weeks passed in the monotony of 
their enforced seclusion without much 
anxiety to the Pangborns, for they 
knew how long and difficult was the 
rough trail to the older settlements. 
But when two months had gone by 
without bringing the promised succor 
and the stock of provisions was alarm- 
ingly short, James Pangborn feared 
some new invasion of the Yorkers held 
his friends in defence of their own 
homes. He was now quite well and 
had almost regained his full strength. 
He determined to go in quest of his 
friends and at the same time procure 
the much-needed provisions. John, 
though dreading to repeat the dreary 


Warning 97 

journey, urged that he might go 
instead. 

“ No, you stay an’ tek care o’ your 
mother an’ the children,” said his 
father. ” Nobody’s seen us here, an’ 
I guess they won’t. The Scotchmen 
never come this way. An’ there’ll be 
no trappers or Injins round ’fore fall. 
I’ll be off to-morrer mornin’, bright 
an’ airl}^, an’ in less ’an a week, I 
guess. I’ll be back with some meal an’ 
mebby with company.” 

When the first morning light was 
creeping through the forest he set 
forth, and as the hoof-beats grew 
fainter and faded out of hearing, 
deeper loneliness fell upon Susan 
Pangborn and her children than they 
had ever known before. 

The day was still aglow in the sum- 
mer woods, turning the leaves that it 
shone through to green gold and the 
unshed dewdrops to glittering gems. 


98 In the Green Wood 

when she was startled by a slender 
shadow falling from the open door 
across the earthen floor of the shanty, 
and a voice as sweet as that of the her- 
mit-thrush broke the woodland silence. 

It was a comely girl with hair of 
ruddy gold and blushes like roses on 
her cheeks who stood diffidently be- 
fore her. 

“ I’m wae that our folk hae been 
sae hard on ye,” she said. ” An’ gin 
my Uncle Donald an’ I had our way 
wi’ them, it wadna be sae, but the 
Colonel is a dour mon, an’ sae is 
my father. We ken your son. I’m 
thinkin’. Tom they ca’ him.” 

” Our Tom ? And where might he 
been ? It’s many months since we 
heard of him. Like enough there’s 
word from him in the old home, but 
it’s long getting here through the 
woods.” 

” We saw him last at the Fort. He 


L, 8fc. 


Warning 99 

helpit us in a sair strait, an' we canna 
forget.” 

How many times I’ve wished him 
here to help us. But I’m glad to hear 
news of him.” 

” I wadna he were here, but e’en 
that you were wi’ him awa ayont Ti- 
conderoga.” 

She unwrapped a package of ban- 
nocks she had brought, apprehending 
there must be short commons in this 
poor home. The gift was thankfully 
received, and after a few words of 
cheer she departed, leaving new friends 
behind her. 

The next morning, more to while 
away the tedious hours than from 
need of fuel, John took his axe and 
went out to cut firewood a short dis- 
tance from the shanty. He had the 
backwoodsman’s love of warfare with 
the trees, those giants that stood in 
the way of the pioneer, and now he 


100 


In the Green Wood 


struck his axe lustily into the body of 
a tall dry pine. He was laughing 
softly to himself as he thought how 
safely the sound of his noisy labor was 
covered from his enemies by the con- 
tinual roar of the cataract, when he 
was startled by a voice close behind 
him. 

“ Whist, lad, baud a bit,” and, turn- 
ing his head, he saw Donald McIntosh. 

” Ye maun gang awa’ oot o’ this 
afore yon wild callants find ye’re 
here.” He spoke in a low, earnest 
voice. 

” When did you know we were 
hereabouts ? ” 

I kent ye were bidin’ here a fort- 
night syne, but I tauld naebody, nor 
will I. But if they find ye, an’ they 
will, they’d be ouer hard wi’ ye. 
Ye’re father’s able for the journey 
noo, for I saw him ridin’ his beastie 
the morn’s mornin’, an’ but he’s look- 


Warning 


lOI 


in’ fine to what he waur. He didna 
see me. Don’t let another day but 
this find ye here, for ye’re no safe. 
Tell your father Donald McIntosh 
tauld ye sae, but ye’ll nae tell my 
folk.” And without another word 
he hurried abruptly away and disap- 
peared in the woods before John, in 
his astonishment, had found speech 
to thank him. 

As John went slowly back to the 
shanty he pondered upon the difficul- 
ties of the situation. The secret of 
their hiding, which they had thought 
so well kept, might at any moment be 
discovered by unkinder eyes than 
Donald’s. Yet how was such discov- 
ery to be avoided, or how, with his 
father and their only horse gone, was 
he to get the family away to a more 
secure retreat ? The solitude was 
most intense in the deep, breathless 
stillness of the summer noon as he 


102 


In the Green Wood 


stood at the shanty front revolving 
one and another vague plan, each alike 
impracticable. 

Suddenly his abstracted attention 
was caught by the resounding hollow 
tramp of three score horses, the voices 
of their riders, and the clatter of their 
arms and equipments. A moment 
later James Pangborn rode up to the 
listening group at the shanty front. 

“ They've come," he said in a 
voice that, though low and steady, still 
expressed satisfaction and suppressed 
excitement. " Allen an’ Warner with 
nigh on to sixty men, an' Baker’s 
cornin’ with a lot more. Good-bye 
for a little spell." 

Tossing down a bag of meal that 
he carried before him, he turned and 
rode hastily away. John ran into the 
shanty, and, presently reappearing 
with his antiquated pistol, sped down 
the path and out of sight. 


AT GILLILAND’S 


Tom Pangborn went back over his 
lonely route, seldom falling in with 
other wayfarers until he drew near the 
southern end of his journey. A fort- 
night later he returned to Ticonderoga, 
his footsteps and paddle strokes quick- 
ened by the hope of hearing tidings of 
the Scotch settlers. But so secretly 
had Colonel Reid covered his tracks 
that nothing could be learned about 
them from the few who knew, and 
only guesses from those who did not 
know. The same disappointment, in- 
creased by doubt and fears, met him 
at each return to the Fort. 

One day as he stood on the shore, 
looking wistfully down the lake, he 


104 


In the Green Wood 


saw a canoe with a single occupant 
approaching. It was a trapper from 
the northward on his way to market 
with his fur, and from this haunter of 
forest streams Tom thought he must 
get some tidings. 

‘‘ I was on Lewis Crik an’ the Little 
Otter a week ago, an’ there wa’n’t no 
sech folks ner nobody settlin’ there,” 
the trapper said, deliberate in thought 
and speech. ” The’ ’s one family to 
the Lower Falls o’ the Great Otter, 
an’ they was gittin’ ready to put up a 
saw-mill when I was there in March, 
an’ they’re aour kind o’ folks. The’ 
hain’t nobody settled on none o’ the 
streams north o’ there on that side, 
but an Injin told me there was con- 
sid’able of a pitch bein’ made on the 
Boquet, on the west side. He didn't 
say, but I shouldn’t wonder if them 
was your checkered petticoat folks. 
Oh, the rivers ’ll all be sp’iled to 


At Gilliland* s 


105 


rights, wi’ their mill dams and their 
damn mills. I’ve seen beaver housen 
on the floodwood to Great Otter 
Falls, but the’ won’t be none there no 
more.” He sighed deeply, in part 
from the effort of unwonted speech, 
but more from grief over the prospec- 
tive ruin of the hunting-grounds. 

Tom was sure that he now had a 
clue that would lead him to his sweet- 
heart, and determined to follow it as 
soon as possible. So when he made 
his next trip he brought a trusty 
young fellow with him to take his 
place, while he went down the lake 
on a voyage of discovery. 

Early on a summer morning he 
launched a borrowed birch canoe, and 
set forth with a favoring southern 
breeze rippling but not roughening 
the lake, and before the morning gun 
of Crown Point Fort thundered its 
far-echoing salute to the rising sun 


lo6 In the Green Wood 

he passed the crumbling citadel of the 
old French fort, St. Frederic, on his 
left, and on his right, on the shore of 
the Grants, the older embankments 
and naked, houseless chimneys that 
marked the site of the first audacious 
Gallic occupation of the country. St. 
Frederic, the frontier stronghold of 
France, was a useless ruin, behind 
which loomed the massive bastions of 
Amherst’s fortress of Crown Point 
with the banner of England proudly 
floating over all. 

A little beyond the fields that 
French peasants had cleared and 
smoothed out of the rough wilder- 
ness, for English-speaking yeomen 
now to sow and reap, he came to 
where the shaggy edge of the forest 
hemmed the lake, and saw no sign of 
aught but supreme primeval solitude, 
save here and there upon the shore 
the black brands of an old camp-fire. 


At Gilliland'' s 


107 

At noon he beached the canoe on 
the flat shore of' a bay that was strewn 
with curious clay stones like button 
moulds, so perfect in form, even to 
the hole in the centre, that they 
seemed to have been fashioned by 
hand, and he knew that this was the 
“ Button Mould Bay” marked on his 
powder-horn map. 

A few miles farther on he recog- 
nized the Great Otter,* the first large 
stream that he came to. On the rock- 
walled peninsula at its mouth there 
were traces of a fortified post, a me- 
mento of the old wars, and ashes and 
brands of more recent camp-fires. 
The ground was much worn and trod- 
den by frequent transient occupation 
during many past years when alternate 


* The Waubanakee called it sometimes Pe- 
conk-took (Crooked River) and sometimes Wo- 
na-ka-ke-took ( Otter River). The First Falls 
was known as Ne-tah-ne-pun-took. 


io8 In the Green Wood 

war parties of Iroquois and Waubana- 
kee encamped here, and marauding 
hordes of French and Indians all 
halted at the beginning of the second 
stage of the “Indian Road” which 
led to the English frontier settle- 
ments. He never guessed that only 
two leagues of the winding river lay 
between him and the object of his 
search, and near by, hidden in the 
woods, was his father’s family, of 
whose whereabouts he was in as great 
ignorance. So now he bent his course 
to the western shore, and skirted the 
rugged steeps of Split Rock Moun- 
tain. 

At nightfall he made a lonely camp 
in a snug notch of the rocky coast, 
safe from all the winds, but not made 
cheerful by the fire he kept burning 
out of abundant driftwood, for far and 
near, on the mountain, a scattered 
pack of wolves set up a dolorous howl- 


At Gilliland's 109 

ing until, gathered in full force, they 
came swooping down the northward 
slope and out toward the cloven 
promontory, in hot pursuit of a deer. 
They passed so near his bivouac that 
he heard the crash of undergrowth, 
the thud of hoof-beats, the patter of 
swift paws, and the eager whimper of 
the wild hounds. Then, after long 
silence, he heard the baffled pack howl- 
ing over the lost trail on the opposite 
shore, and then, after another silent 
interval, some returning, clambered 
ashore so near him that he heard them 
shake the water from their shaggy 
coats, and saw the glitter of -some far- 
thrown drops falling within the light 
of his fire. He mended it to a brighter 
flame and lay down, too tired with 
thirty miles of paddling to be longer 
kept awake. 

The light of the rising sun awoke 
him, and after eating a dry breakfast 


no 


In the Green Wood 


ration he resumed the lonely voyage. 
Always there was the solitude of for- 
est shores on either hand, with no 
living thing in sight but white gulls 
swimming far aloof, or a loon coming 
to the surface between long intervals 
of nether vanishing, or an eagle slowly 
sailing, majestically, far aloft. 

So he voyaged past So-baps-kwa, 
“ The Pass through the Rock/’ and 
Ko-zo-aps-kwa, “ The Long Rocky 
Point,” and the broad expanse of 
Corlear’s Bay, and at last doubled 
the great headland. Point Su-bous- 
sin, and entered the bay where his 
horn chart told him the Boquet 
emptied. 

The river being duly found, he pad- 
died with lusty strokes up the clear 
channel, in which salmon, fresh run 
from the far-off sea, broke the fair 
surface, and amid a great commotion 
of wood-ducks that arose squeaking 


At Gilliland's 


III 


and fluttering before him and settled 
behind him. 

At last newly cleared farmland 
opened on either hand, with log- 
houses and barns and stacks of grain 
and hay set among them. Then he 
heard the rush of swift water and the 
quick swish of a saw-mill, and pres- 
ently he ran his canoe in at a landing 
where various other craft were moored, 
and beached it before a log-house so 
large that it indicated the home of the 
owner. 

There were a few workmen about 
the place, whites and negroes, who 
quit whatever they were doing to re- 
gard the stranger. Presently a tall 
man in genteel dress, somewhat the 
worse for wear, stepped out from the 
house a couple of paces, and looked 
as sharply at the idle workers as at 
the object of their curiosity. 

Tom searched in vain for a familiar 


I 12 


In the Green Wood 


face or a Highland kilt ; then advanc- 
ing, asked the first he came to : 

“ Is this Colonel Reid's better- 
ment ? ” 

The negro stared in blank surprise 
at such ignorance before he could an- 
swer : 

“ No, no. This hain't no Colonel's 
ner no Reid's. This here's Mist' 
Gillilan's, an' that 'ere is him up yen- 
der by the house." 

" Well, my man," the gentleman 
said, eyeing Tom as he approached, 
" where do ye come from, an' what 
do ye want ? " 

His brusqueness was not to Tom's 
liking, and he answered as shortly: 

" I’m from Fort Ti last, an' I was 
lookin’ for Colonel Reid’s company. 
I beared he’d made a pitch on this 
river." 

" No, indeed, the worse luck for 
him. He is on the Otter Creek, I 


At Gilliland's 


113 

hear, and I doubt he’ll have trouble 
with Wentworth’s people. What’s 
the news at the forts ? ” 

Turning to his men, that stood agape 
listening for the news, he said sharply : 

Get to your work. Til call you when 
I need you to entertain my company. 
Come in, stranger, and rest while you 
tell me the news. It’s a long voyage 
you’ve had, and lucky you weren’t 
caught in a storm with that cockle- 
shell of a bark.” 

He led the way to a plainly finished 
room with an incongruous mixture of 
home-made and elegantly fashioned 
furniture. Giving Tom a seat in a 
mahogany chair at a rough deal table, 
he set before his guest a bottle and 
glass with the laconic invitation: 

“Wet your whistle.” 

His stern, care-worn features soft- 
ened with a genial warmth of hospi- 
tality, and Tom found himself liking 
8 


1 14 In the Green TVood 

him far better than at first. He 
thought he had little to tell, but news 
came so seldom to this out-of-the-way- 
settlement the least item was inter- 
esting, and the recital grew long with 
trivial details. When he had done 
Gilliland thanked him generously, and 
added : 

“ You’ll stay with us the night, and 
if you go back to-morrow some of my 
men are going to the Cloven Rock 
Farm, and will give you a lift with the 
canoe on the ox-cart that far. It’ll 
save you twenty miles’ paddling.” 

And Tom, vexed to have come so 
far for nothing, gladly accepted the 
proffered hospitality. 

At supper he was introduced to 
Mrs. Gilliland and her daughters, who 
were glad enough to see a stranger 
from the border of the outer world, 
and were even more interested than 
the master in all that he could tell 


At Gilliland'' s 


I15 

them of it, for news long since grown 
old in Albany was news indeed to 
these remote dwellers in the wilder- 
ness. 

A bright-looking negress was in at- 
tendance, whom Tom was to meet 
again under far different circum- 
stances, and who was to become an 
humble yet notable figure in history. 

“ Ye’ll be in luck to see the salmon- 
fishin’ the night,” said Gilliland to his 
guest, rising and going to the window, 
from which could be seen the pictur- 
esque river. ” There’s a fine run the 
day, and it’s time we were off.” 

The fleet of boats ranged at the foot 
of the falls, their flaring jacks glim- 
mering and flashing in innumerable 
repetition across the broken, foam- 
flecked water ; the alert forms and 
eager faces of the spearmen, the agile 
polemen, the captured fish shining like 
animate bolts of silver and casting 


In the Green Wood 


1 16 

abroad showers of silver sparkles as 
they were cast into the boats from the 
reeking spears, the shouts, the laugh- 
ter, and the eager emulation — all 
joined to make a wildly impressive 
scene, whose like can never again be 
beheld on the waters of Champlain. 

There was a group of eager specta- 
tors on the bank. The ladies of the 
household and their maid escorts, and 
a few men-servants too old to engage 
in the sport were now thrown in bright 
relief against the background of night 
by the torch of a passing boat, now 
sank into the surrounding gloom, now 
flashed forth again. 

William Gilliland’s tall form was 
constantly moving among the throng, 
directing and ordering all, and often 
he took a hand in the sport. Second 
only to him was an athletic negro 
called Governor George, who was as 
skilful and even more active than his 


At Gilliland'* s 


master, and who seemed to excite the 
latter’s enmity and envy. Once Gilli- 
land, in a sudden burst of anger, struck 
him, and the negro withdrew from the 
company and held sullenly aloof. 

After the sport became a labor and 
the boats were laden with full fares 
the company retired. 


XI 

THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS 

The Highlanders had eaten their 
dinner of porridge and bannocks, and 
were lounging about their house-doors 
and the mill, smoking their cutties and 
gossiping before resuming their labors. 

“Ye been gien the Colonel’s new 
mill a bit turn the day, John Cam- 
eron ? ” said one, examining the newly 
erected mill as a child would a strange 
toy. 

“Aye,” said the tall miller, “an’ 
she rins gay fine. All she’ll be want- 
in’s the grist.” 

“ Aweel, mon,” said Angus Mc- 
Bean, “ she’ll not be wantin’ them 
lang. We’ll hae a braw harvest the 
year,” and he looked abroad com- 


The Green Mountain Boys 119 

placently upon the narrow fields of 
wheat, oats, and corn that were luxu- 
riantly growing on virgin soil. 

“ An’ nae doot the Yankee bodies’ll 
be bringin’ their grists to the Colo- 
nel’s mill,” said the first speaker. 
” They’ll no haud a grudge anent 
their ain conveniency.” 

Old Donald McIntosh was stand- 
ing, looking toward the border of the 
woods. 

” By the Pikers o’ War! ” he cried 
suddenly, ” I’se warrant they be coom- 
in’ noo wi’ a grist we’ll find ower hard 
grindin’, Johnny Cameron. Name 
the deil, an’ he’ll aye be at your lug. 
Look, lads ! ” 

All eyes followed his outstretched 
hand, and saw a troop of armed horse- 
men filing out of the forest path and 
spreading along the clearing in an 
irregular line. 

” Gude guide us, but it’s the true 


120 


In the Green JVood 


word ye say, Donald McIntosh,” said 
Cameron. ” Awa’, lads, an’ get your 
guns an’ claymores ! Shaw them but 
a bauld front, an’ they’ll shaw us their 
backs, I’se warrant ye. They’ve nae 
stomach for cauld steel ! Rin, lads! ” 

” Haud, men,” said Donald McIn- 
tosh in a peremptory tone of com- 
mand, ” are ye clean daft ? They’re 
a hunder to our twenty, an’ wad pitch 
us a’ ower the linn as a boy wad sae 
mony peebles. It’ll be yon rantin’, 
roarin’ Ethan Allen an’ his Benning- 
ton mob. We’ll e’en hae to tak 
what they’ll gie us an’ mak the best 
o’t, be it sweet or saur. Here they 
come ! ” 

A little band of horse approached 
the mill, led by a man of herculean 
frame and strong, bold, and handsome 
features. 

” Sons of Belial,” he roared in a 
leonine voice as he reined his horse 


The Green Mountain Boys I2l 

before the group of Highlanders, 
where’s your lord and master, Colo- 
nel John Reid ? ” 

“ He went awa’ yestreen to Crown 
Point. Ye’ll no find him,” Donald an- 
swered civilly, though his face flushed 
angrily. ” An’ I’ll tak lave to tell ye 
we’re no the sons o’ Belial, whaever 
he may be, but honest Hieland gen- 
tlemen.” 

” Honest gentlemen!” cried Allen 
contemptuously. ” But I’ve heard 
that Highland gentlemen have a fash- 
ion of taking other people’s belong- 
ings without leave or license, as you’ve 
done here. It’s a fashion we Yankees 
don’t take kindly to. And now, my 
honest Highland gentlemen, get your 
household stuff out of your houses 
and be off with you. You’ll not be 
harmed if you depart in peace. You 
are but tools of your master. But 
woe be unto him if we lay hands on 


122 


In the Green Wood 


him. Verily he shall be scourged 
with the twigs of the wilderness. 
Search him out, boys,” he continued, 
addressing his followers. ” It’s not 
likely he’s gone, but ’s hiding some- 
where.” 

” I tell ye the Colonel’s gane, an’ 
by God’s mercy he’ll be at Crown 
Point by this, safe fra your murtherin’ 
hands,” said Donald. 

Upon the other side of the river an- 
other band of Green Mountain Boys, 
numbering almost as many as the 
first, now came pouring out of the 
woods and down upon the mill, led 
by Baker. 

” Hurrah for the good cause!” he 
shouted, waving his hat. 

“ Verily it prospereth,” returned 
Allen. ” Captain Baker, I appoint 
you to take care of the mill. See that 
the saw-gear is not injured. That’s 
Pangborn’s. But you needn’t be so 


The Green Mountain Boys 123 

careful of Reid’s part. Leave none 
of his belongings to call him back. I 
will go and spoil the camp of the Phi- 
listines, yea and pull down the taber- 
nacles they have builded in the wilder- 
ness. Dismount, men, and turn your 
horses into the grain-fields ! Let them 
spoil the corn even as did the foxes 
of Samson.” 

A wild scene of havoc presently en- 
sued. The dismounted men swarmed 
about the half-dozen houses, which 
they summarily emptied of their con- 
tents, and then unroofed all but that 
of Pangborn’s and one not yet reached 
that stood apart on a hill below the 
falls. Dazed women and frightened 
children ran wildly about weeping, 
while the men stood aloof, helpless 
and sullen spectators of the disman- 
tling of their homes and the destruc- 
tion of their crops, for the hungry 
horses were ranging through the fields. 


124 


In the Green Wood 


trampling down faster than they de- 
voured the luxuriant growth. 

John’s heart was sick at the sorry 
sight. The retribution that should in 
justice fall on Colonel Reid, rather 
than on these innocent tenants of his, 
seemed to outweigh too heavily the 
injury inflicted on his father. Then, 
too, must that kindly old man suffer, 
when he had interceded for his father 
and warned himself of danger ? These 
hurrying men all looked so stern and 
pitiless, he felt little hope they would 
spare the old man’s house. But his 
own good friend. Captain Warner, was 
more merciful, and would surely use 
his influence to requite McIntosh’s un- 
availing sympathy and friendly warn- 
ing, and in quest of him the boy went 
from group to group. 

At the mill Baker and his men were 
hewing down the hopper and breaking 
the stones with axes, sledges, and 


The Green Mountain Boys 125 

crowbars, and throwing the pieces 
over the falls beyond all hope of re- 
covery, and there they rest to-day be- 
neath the rush and roar of the cataract 
during six score years. Presently 
Baker came forth with the bolt-cloth 
trailing after him. This he began to 
cut in strips with his sword. 

“ Here, boys,’’ he cried, “ stick this 
in your hats for cockades,” and he dis- 
tributed the fluttering bits of cloth 
among the eager hands that were 
stretched forth. 

” Hech!” groaned John Cameron, 
gnashing his teeth in his helpless 
wrath. “To see gude bolt-cloth that 
cost eight puns a yard cut an’ hag- 
gled by a pack o’ beggar loons ! Oh, 
but ye’re braw men, sax o’ ye to the 
ane o’ us! Gin we were fifty, aye or 
forty, we’d sen’ ye fleein’ wi’ our clay- 
mores ! ” 

” Aye, aye,” said Remember Baker 


126 


In the Green Wood 


laughing, “ I know you’re all for 
the broadsword and the dirk, but 
we’re bush fighters, and you’d make 
a poor show against our Yankee 
rifles.” 

” Faith, then. I’d undertak it if we 
had twenty leal men to stan’ by me. 
What law hae ye for sic deil’s wark ? 
An’ where’s ye’re commission that 
they ca’ ye Captain ? ” 

” We live out of the law,” said 
Baker. ” Don’t you know there’s a 
bounty set on our heads like wolves ? 
This is our law” — tapping his gun — 
” and this” — holding up his maimed 
hand — ” is my commission, given by 
’Squire Monro. But you’re a brave 
fellow, though on the wrong side. 
Join us, and you may stay here.” 

” I’d liefer tak sarvice wi’ auld 
Hornie hissen,” cried Cameron. 

” Suit yourself,” said Baker care- 
lessly as he turned from the irate 


The Green Mountain Boys 127 

Highlander. Then addressing his 
men : 

“ There’s a house over there on the 
hill below the falls, Donald McIn- 
tosh’s, some one says. We’ll go over 
an’ ’tend to that now. We mustn’t 
slight any one.” 

Hearing this, John sped away in 
eager search of Captain Warner, whom 
he found just as Baker and several 
others were embarking to cross the 
river. 

” Oh, Captain Warner,” he cried 
breathlessly, ” don’t let ’em trouble 
Donald McIntosh. He was good to 
us, an’ wanted ’em to let us stay till 
father got well, an’ told me this very 
mornin’. They’re goin’ over to turn 
him out. Don’t let ’em. Do stop 
’em. Captain.” 

They ran down to the shore, and 
Warner called loudly to the boat, but 
it was almost at the farther bank, and 


128 


In the Green Wood 


his voice was drowned in the roar of 
the falls. Close at hand a bark canoe 
lay on the bank. Quick as thought 
Warner launched her ; stepping in him- 
self and motioning John to a place in 
her, he sent her out into the stream 
with a stroke of the paddle. Both 
plied their paddles lustily, but when 
they landed on the other shore Baker 
and his men were half-way up the hill 
on which stood Donald’s snug block- 
house. Warner hallooed in vain and 
ran on, closely followed by his young 
companion. When they came up with 
the others Baker and his men were 
hammering noisily at the heavy oaken 
door, and loudly demanding it should 
be opened to them. 

“ I winna let ye in,” Donald cried, 
his voice muffled in the thick walls of 
the house. ” By the Pikers o’ War, 
ye’ll mak ye’re ain way. I’ll nae open 
my ain door to be turned oot o’ ’t. ” 


The Green Mountain Boys I2g 

“ Get a log and batter it down,” 
said Baker, pointing to a heavy tim- 
ber that lay conveniently near. “ Pick 
up that log.” 

” Hold on. Captain Baker,” said 
Warner, ” let me speak with you,” 
and taking Baker aside, he earnestly 
pleaded the cause of the kind-hearted 
Highlander, while the men stood wait- 
ing beside the log. John anxiously 
watched the outcome of the interview, 
and his heart gave a bound of joy as 
he saw Baker’s stern face relax and 
then melt in a kindly glow as he turned 
quickly to his comrades and said: 

” Well, boys, we won’t trouble the 
old chap. He’s shown his good-will 
to Pangborn. It wa’n’t much, but 
the best he could do, and we’re not 
the men to forget favors.” Then he 
shouted at the closed door: “You can 
stay here, old man, but mind you ‘ be- 
have as becometh,’ ” and giving the 
9 


130 In the Green Wood 

word to his men, they filed away to- 
ward the landing. 

“ Mr. McIntosh,” called Warner, 
“ you needn’t be afraid to open your 
door.” 

A shutter was unbarred and slightly 
opened. When it was seen that these 
two only remained, Donald cautiously 
thrust forth his head. 

” You won’t be harmed, and you 
may thank this boy for it.” 

” I’ll no thank onybody for what’s 
my ain. But I’ll no say I’m not 
obleeged to the lad for speakin’ a 
gude word. I’ll no forget it.” 

Warner and John now hastily took 
their way back to the river, where the 
dispossessed Highlanders were gath- 
ered, hurriedly lading their batteaux 
with their effects. 

” It’s cruel work,” said Warner, 
sighing as he viewed the sad scene, 
” but I know of no other way.” 


The Green Mountain Boys 13 1 


Presently the tenants departed, a 
woeful, disheartened band, all sullen 
and silent save valiant John Cameron, 
who, standing in the stern of the last 
boat, hurled back bitter imprecations 
on the Green Mountain Boys, and no 
lighter ones on “ fause Donald McIn- 
tosh, the traitor loon who wad tak 
aught fra the like o’ them.” So they 
drifted away into the wilderness, 
homeless wanderers in the new world 
that had so lately been their land of 
promise. 

When but a few months before they 
were ascending the brimming river, 
the freshly budding forest, all alight 
with spring sunshine, seemed beckon- 
ing them, and a multitude of birds 
sang a joyous welcome to happy and 
prosperous homes in the green wood. 

Now in the dark shadows of full 
leafage the shores looked strange and 
forbidding, and gave forth no cheer- 


132 


In the Green Wood 


fuller sound than the solemn chorus 
of frogs, the uncanny cries of water- 
fowl, and the moaning of the wind. 

This foreboding of rough weather 
on the lake they found verified when 
they reached it. It was in a wild rage 
of white-topped waves that charged 
against shore and headland in sullen, 
persistent fury. 

The wanderers landed on the low 
wooded promontory, made booths of 
cedar boughs, and lighted fires, around 
which they gathered, a silent and dis- 
consolate company, awaiting a kindlier 
mood of the elements. 


XII 


A STORMY PASSAGE 

The next morning Tom parted from 
his eccentric host, who furnished him 
with a fresh supply of provisions for 
the journey, and saw him off with the 
party of haymakers. Among those 
detailed for this work at the out-farm 
was Governor George. He was still 
gloomy and brooding over last night's 
blow. 

“ You 'pear to lay the ol' man's 
cuffin' to heart, Gov'nor," said one 
of his companions. 

“ He never struck me afore, an' he 
never will agin.” 

” You'd better not threaten the ol' 
man. He's pretty rough when his 
dander's up.”. 


134 Green Wood 

“ I hain’t threat’nin’ nob’dy, but he 
won’t never hit me agin,” said Gov- 
ernor George significantly. ” Where 
be you goin’ to stop for your noonin’, 
marster ? ” he presently asked Tom 
as the latter shoved his canoe into the 
water when they had reached their 
journey’s end by the ox-teams. 

” Oh, at Grog Harbor, I guess,” 
was replied as he embarked on the 
lake. 

Corlear’s Bay lay before him, and, 
bidding the haymakers good luck, he 
headed his canoe for the desired prom- 
ontory of So-baps-kwa. The south 
wind had fallen to a perfect calm, and 
but for the lengthening wake of the 
canoe, as far as the eye could range 
the sleeping lake was as unruffled as 
the sky above it. 

But behind the blue peaks of the 
farther mountains loftier heights of 
pearl and silver were slowly uplifting. 


A Stormy Passage 135 

portending a change in the mood of 
the elements. Before he reached the 
headland, catspaws of wind snatched 
at the water, scoring its smooth sur- 
face with quickly vanishing black 
scars. 

A dark cloud came up out of the 
west from beneath one of the domes 
of pearl and lapped the mountain in 
its folds, shrouding it in a barred veil 
of slanted rain that drew nearer over 
the forest and fell on the edge of the 
lake, then came sweeping across it 
with a roar of dpwnfall, blown far 
aslant by a sudden tempestuous blast. 

In a moment the canoe was in the 
limit of rain-pelted, wind-blown water. 
The white waves were leaping high 
up the great rocks when Tom rounded 
the point, right glad to gain its shel- 
ter. After passing the cleft, through 
which wind and waves poured like an 
air-blast and flooded flume combined. 


136 In the Green Wood 

he had no trouble to make his way 
along in the lee of the rocky shore to 
the little harbor that had sheltered 
him at the close of the first day. 

As he waited, in the discomfort of 
wet clothes and an unseasonable, chill- 
ing wind, hovering over a reluctant 
fire, he heard hasty footsteps clatter- 
ing among the loose stones, and a 
sound as of some one breaking through 
the brushwood. The sounds ceased, 
and he heard a sharp, vibrant chirr, 
like the cry of a cicada, then a few 
heavily delivered blows, and the steps 
were resumed, until Governor George 
broke forth from an alder coppice, 
bearing a huge rattlesnake hanging in 
slow, limp contortions from the end 
of a staff. 

“ I sf>ile him, suah,” said he, cast- 
ing the serpent contemptuously aside. 

“ Why, George, you here ? ” 

“ Yes, marster. Ain’t you heard 


A Stormy Passage 


137 


me said Mars’ Bill won’t never hit me 
agin ? I means that. Him an’ me 
was jes’ like brothers, we was. An’ 
for him to strike me I can’t stan’ 
that.” 

” But where are you going ? ” 
’Crost the lake wi’ you, sir, then 
I do’ know where. Sometime I’m 
cornin’ back for my Dinah when I 
gets a home for her.” 

” But I can’t take you, Gov’nor. 
Mr. Gilliland treated me too well for 
me to pay him that way.” 

” I ain’t askin’ of you, marster. 
I’se just gwine,” and, sitting down, 
he began fashioning a paddle from a 
slab of dry cedar. 

There was no denying such a pas- 
senger, and when the waning after- 
noon brought no improvement in the 
weather, and Tom decided to venture, 
hoping to make a safe passage to the 
Otter Creek, the stalwart negro took 


138 In the Green Wood 

his place in the canoe and gave valu- 
able aid with his well-plied paddle. 

The gale still blew from the west, 
so that in the lee of the mountain the 
water was comparatively smooth, but 
beyond that was a wild tumult of 
white-capped waves, into which it 
seemed hopeless for the frail birch to 
enter. They kept her in the smoother 
water until they reached an indenta- 
tion of the mountain side, where they 
hauled the craft upon a narrow shelf 
of rock, and there they determined to 
stay until the fury of the storm 
abated. 

The eastern shore line was indis- 
tinct in a palpitating blur of spray, 
with a break where the river emptied, 
and beside it a loftier leap of break- 
ing waves and an upburst of spray 
marked the position of the jutting 
peninsula. 

As Tom’s eyes dwelt on this fore- 


A Stormy Passage 


139 


most object he became aware of sev- 
eral figures moving to and fro, now 
apart, now in groups, now mere phan- 
toms, now more clearly defined sub- 
stance, as the clouds of spray arose 
and fell and drifted into the woods. 
He could make out no more than that 
they were people, most likely storm- 
bound like himself. 

It was almost dark in the shadow of 
the mountain and dusk beyond it be- 
fore the wind fell enough, so that Tom 
dared crossing the lake, for he was anx- 
ious to be gone, as his quarters were 
cramped and fireless, which last dis- 
comfort was not pleasant to think of 
when the long howl of a wolf drifted 
down, muffled in a roar of the wind, 
from a black gorge of the mountain. 
The flaming blaze of a camp-fire began 
to wink in the dusk on the opposite 
shore, promising a sure beacon when 
daylight faded. 


140 


In the Green Wood 


“ It's nasty water, sir,” said the 
Governor, ” an’ I don’ know if we’ll 
git acrost, but we kin try. It’s that 
or nothing for me.” 

” Well, here goes,” cried Tom, and 
with gun and blanket lashed to cross- 
bars, they struck out into the turbu- 
lent waters. 

It was rougher than he liked, but 
the little craft went bravely half-way 
across. Then of a sudden the wind, 
veering a point to the northward, 
smote the lake as if from brooding its 
anger through the lull. Chopping seas 
assailed the canoe’s quarter while she 
was held on her course, and when she 
fell away before them chased her with 
angry leaps, and so often boarded her 
that the knees of her occupants were 
presently in a wash of water. 

They knew that she must soon be 
swamped. Even now, with all the 
strength they could put into their 


A Stormy Passage 14 1 

strokes, she wallowed along, slower 
than the hissing waves, each as it 
overtook her adding to her burden. 
With the next wave that caught her 
she broached to, and it seethed over 
her stern, and as she settled beneath 
them both men tumbled themselves 
overboard, and, seizing the after cross- 
bar with one hand, they kept her 
from capsizing. 

The canoe’s cedar lining kept her 
from sinking deeper than her gun- 
wales, but she plunged and rolled as 
if with a wish to rid herself of their 
weight, and each, with all the strength 
of his body mustered in his one hand, 
barely maintained his hold. As Tom 
was tossed up on the crest of a wave 
he saw but a little way off the blaze 
of the camp-fire, the torn flame, the 
sparks and the smoke blown low along 
the ground on one side, and on the 
other a group of kilted forms with 


142 


In the Green Wood 


fluttering plaids flaunting out from 
them. 

He called lustily for help, then sank 
in a trough, and figures and fire were 
blotted out, then took shape and glow 
again as he was lifted on another 
wave, and when the men vanished 
again they were rushing to the shore. 

The water-logged canoe struck with 
a lifeless, sodden thud, and he was 
pounded on the bottom beside her 
and the breath knocked out of him by 
a breaking wave. That was all that 
he knew, and the roar of wind and 
water was the last he heard. 


XIII 

A MIDNIGHT FLITTING 

At length, as in a dream, Tom heard 
men speaking in a strange tongue, and 
through the clamor the wail of a girl’s 
sweet voice : 

Oh God, he’s drooned ! My luve, 
my ain true luve ! ” 

He woke to see Lisbeth Cameron 
kneeling beside him, and her kinsfolk 
and clansfolk standing about, silent 
now and looking ill-pleased at this rev- 
elation of her love for one they all 
must count as of their enemies, since 
they all knew that Pangborn, the mail- 
carrier, was the son of the man whom 
they had so summarily dispossessed, 
and for whose sake they themselves 


144 


In the Green Wood 


had in turn suffered the same hard- 
ship. 

The last he had seen of George his 
black head was bobbing out and under 
the surges on the other side the canoe ; 
now he was sitting opposite him, shiv- 
ering over the fire in his steaming wet 
clothes. 

The rescued men were warmed and 
dried and fed with Highland hospital- 
ity, and, in an hour Tom was in a con- 
dition to plead his case with Lisbeth’s 
father and mother. It was all to no 
purpose with John Cameron, whose 
heart was hard and bitter against the 
race of the destroyers of his beloved 
mill. His wife, though less implaca- 
ble, was yet apparently loyal to her 
husband’s opposition. 

After most of the refugees, worn 
out with the excitements and labors of 
the day, had betaken themselves to 
their rude, improvised beds, Elspeth, 


A Midnight Flitting 


145 


ignoring Tom’s presence, found oppor- 
tunity for speech with her daughter. 

“ My heart is sair for ye, my lass, 
but I winna gie my consent na maur 
nor your father. For a’ that, Fm 
tauld yon canoe boat is none the waur 
for its wreckin’, an’ the river lies afore 
ye, an’ ye ken where your Uncle Don- 
ald’s house is, an’ it’s like there’ll be 
a magistrate or happen a meenister 
amang a’ yon reivin’ loons. Your 
father’s a braw sleeper, an’ I’ll 
doubt he’ll be at it noo.” With 
that she kissed Lisbeth, and went 
into the booth where her husband lay 
snoring. 

Tom made a show of departing, and 
disappeared among the thick shadows. 
When the camp was in the heaviness 
of its first sleep and the smouldering 
fires burned low, he came again, steal- 
ing to the landing with noiseless dip 
of paddle, so like a ghost materializing 
10 


146 In the Green Wood 

out of the gloom that Lisbeth, waiting 
on the bank, was almost frightened at 
his appearance. He wrapped her in 
her plaid and his own blanket, and 
they silently embarked. 

A little way on her course the canoe 
swerved to the bank, and George* 
stepped quietly on board and pres- 
ently added his strength to her prog- 
ress. 

They took the mid-channel, where 
the reflected sky made a star-spangled 
path ; they sent the canoe steadily for- 
ward past sedgy shores, past the 
ghostly ranks of tall buttonwoods, 
past the marshy debouchment of Dead 
Creek, the Lake Lily of old surveyors, 
and so .on until the ceaseless voice of 
the cataract began to murmur in their 

* Governor George built a cabin not far from 
the McIntosh house. Its site is still com- 
memorated by the uneuphonious name of Nigger 
Hill. 


A Midnight Flitting 


147 


ears, and grew to a thunderous roar 
as the canoe touched the bank at the 
end of Donald’s footpath. 

The custom of being stolen by lovers 
was common among her race, and Lis- 
beth took kindly to it, only it was too 
tame, with no risk of pursuit or being 
fought for. 

“ Hoot, lass, what brought ye 
here ?” her Uncle Donald demanded 
as he opened his door at their sum- 
mons in the gray of the morning, 

“ My ain true luve. Uncle Don- 
ald, an’ I’ll e’en marry him the 
morn’s mornin’ if God wills an’ there’s 
a parson to the fore,” she answered 
bravely. 

” An’ wha’s that ahint ye ? Did 
auld Hornie fetch ye here ?” Donald 
asked, discovering the negro in at- 
tendance. 

” Aweel, Tom Pangborn,” said 
Donald at length, ” you’ll just gang 


148 


In the Green Wood 


awa’ an’ bide wi’ your ain folk ayont 
the linn, an’ come back in the mornin’ 
wi’ a parson or magistrate. It’s like 
ye’ll find the tane or the tither amang 
a’ yon reivers.” 

Of all the surprises of those event- 
ful hours none was more joyful than 
the unexpected restoration of Tom to 
his father’s family, already established 
in their regained home. 

Ethan Allen and his men had already 
begun preparations for the block-house 
they afterward built at the New Haven 
Falls for the better protection of the 
miller and other New England settlers 
who were about to establish them- 
selves here. 

There were both minister and mag- 
istrate among the Green Mountain 
Boys, and they with many others 
attended the wedding in Donald’s 
block-house. If for lack of prepara- 
tion there was little feasting, there 


A Midnight Flitting 


149 


was boisterous merry-making, and 
healths drunk in Highland whiskey 
and New England rum to the happy 
union of the Thistle and the Evergreen 
Sprig. 


XIV 


A PIONEER ABOLITIONIST 

The green-coated regiment of Colo- 
nel Herrick’s Rangers marched away 
in three ranks to the tune of “ The 
Girl I Left Behind Me,” shrieked and 
rattled at their loudest by fife and 
drum, echoed from hillside and wood- 
land, and reechoed in the heart of 
many a wife, mother, and sweetheart 
who with pride and sorrow saw their 
loved ones departing. 

The present mission of the rangers 
was to capture the forts that a short 
time since were so shamefully aban- 
doned by St. Clair when Burgoyne’s 
cohorts swept through the valley. 

The first to engage their attention 
was the Skenes’ stronghold at the 


A Pioneer Aholitionist 


151 

head of Lake Champlain. The mas- 
ter of the fortified manor house with 
his regiment of tories was following 
the waning fortunes of Burgoyne. 
His son, the major, held the place 
with a force too small to oppose the 
present assailants, and therefore sur- 
rendered with his retinue of male and 
female servants. Among the latter 
was one willing prisoner, a young 
woman whose pale, despairing face 
bore traces of once remarkable beauty. 

While ransacking the cellar in search 
of booty some rangers found the 
ghastly remains of Colonel Skene’s 
unburied wife. She had been kept 
there for twelve years that an annuity 
might still be drawn, which was to 
continue while “ her body remained 
above ground.” 

A few water-craft were seized and 
the force went northward to Fort 
Independence, which they found de- 


152 


ht the Green Wood 


serted, with its forty cannon spiked 
and abandoned, the barracks burned, 
and everything in ruin, except the 
house of a French sutler, wherein they 
discovered, to their consolation, a 
good store of wine and brandy, a 
sinew of war greatly valued in those 
days. Three vessels were found, one 
afloat, the others sunk with all their 
stores on board. 

A company was despatched to Lake 
George, where the fort of the same 
name, still manned by the old garri- 
son, was captured without demonstra- 
tion of defence, save the furious bark- 
ing of the faithful dog, and the water- 
craft there were seized. 

When the company was gathered at 
Mount Independence and Callendar 
brought in the oddly assorted garrison 
of Fort George, the old soldier and 
his wife held aloof from the others, 
while the faithful old spaniel ranged 


A Pioneer Abolitionist 153 

at will, seeking new acquaintances or 
old friends, and was at last intent on 
one particular trail, in the maze of 
tracks on the parade ground. So 
eager was his quest that he became 
the central object of interest to pris- 
oners and guard, until after many cir- 
clings and windings he came to the 
sad-faced girl sitting alone, and with 
a wild cry of joy sprang upon her and 
covered her with caresses. 

“ Look, Jerry, look!” the old sol- 
dier’s wife cried, plucking him by the 
sleeve. ” Dash has found our Polly. 
Come, come quick! ” 

He set his face hardly, but in spite 
of all he could do there was a quiver 
to his chin. 

” Oh, Jerry,” she said in a voice 
broken by emotion, ” you must for- 
give her. She’s all we’ve got left on 
earth,” and he suffered himself to be 
led to their daughter. 


154 


In the Green Wood 


The capture of Mount Defiance was 
entered upon by Captain Ebenezer 
Allen with his company of fifty men. 
The divided company approached from 
different directions, groping their way 
through the dark forest, keeping in- 
formed of each other's whereabouts 
by frequent very real imitations of 
the hooting of the great horned owl. 
The sentinels pacing their exalted soli- 
tary beats on the starlit heights must 
have thought that all the owls of the 
region were gathering in a convention 
of wisdom, and have wondered some- 
times at the sudden interruptions of 
the solemn cadence when some luck- 
less imitator stumbled on a log or 
plunged into an unseen depression, 
and a carefully modulated hoot ended 
in a smothered imprecation. 

Tom Pangborn, sergeant of the com- 
pany, followed close to the heels of 
Captain Allen, who led the way up 


A Pioneer Abolitionist 155 

the steep front of the mountain. This 
was a series of irregular shelves and 
escarpments, like enormous stairs, up 
which they climbed one after another, 
till the leader reached one near the 
top too high to scale unaided. 

“ Give me your back, Tom," he 
whispered, and Tom stooping, the cap- 
tain mounted, and his men swarmed 
after by like means, till the shelf was 
full of them, eight in all. Then up 
they went again over the last step, 
and came out full on the crest of the 
mount, looking into the black muzzle 
of a field-piece, with a gunner at the 
breech blowing his sputtering port 
fire. 

" Shoot the damned gunner," the 
captain shouted. 

At this the cannonier turned and 
fled down the mountain, the port fire 
showering sparks like a comet behind 
him, until he and his comrades were 


156 


In the Green Wood 


met and captured by the party ap- 
proaching in that direction. 

Daylight soon flooded the broad val- 
ley from range to range of its moun- 
tain walls as the captors gathered 
around the tall flag-staff, where the 
banner of England was never again to 
salute the rising sun, fifty men with 
forty-nine prisoners. 

“ Never in my life did I fire a can- 
non, ’ ’ cried the exultant captain, ‘ ‘ and 
now’s my time if ever while I proclaim 
myself master of Defiance.” 

With that he trained the gun on a 
hulk in the broad channel of the lake 
and touched off the piece. As the 
party peered out of the smoke-cloud 
and the thunderous echoes boomed 
from crag to crag they saw the far-off 
craft totter and reel under the stroke 
of the shot, and they set up a lusty 
cheer for the cunning marksman. 

Having delivered his prisoners, the 


A Pioneer Abolitionist 157 

audacious captain pressed hard on the 
heels of the retreating enemy, captur- 
ing some on the water, some on land. 
At last he came upon a party of them 
at Gilliland's on the Boquet, taking 
their ease in snug quarters, and in 
such apparent good fellowship with 
their host that Captain Allen took it 
the latter was in full sympathy with 
them, and therefore did not scruple 
to confiscate whatever he needed of 
Gilliland’s effects. 

“ Now it’s the king’s troops and 
now it’s your people that come upon 
me like a swarm of locusts and devour 
my substance,” cried Gilliland in de- 
spair, ” though I take sides with 
neither, and the devil might have both 
if I might only be left alone. I came 
here to be rid of the world’s troubles, 
but they follow me into the depth of 
these green woods. A while ago your 
Arnold came with his ships, and it was 


158 


In the Green Wood 


five hundred good salmon he took for 
his pirates to eat, and I may whistle 
for my pay. Belike it's aboard his 
‘ Royal Savage ’ under water at Val- 
cour. Then it was Carleton, and then 
it was Burgoyne with his hungry In- 
dians, and now it’s the both of ye. 
It’s no fair play to an honest neutral 
gentleman, I tell ye. Captain Allen.” 

” Who is not for us is against us, 
Mr. Gilliland, and we must eat,” said 
Allen. 

” Devil a bit I care whether you 
eat or starve,” Gilliland continued. 
” Why, they even take my black 
slaves, what haven’t run away, and 
they’ll not be eating them, I doubt. 
It’s not long agone one o’ your 
Yankees came here and eat my bread 
and drank my rum, and when I set 
him well on his homeward way he car- 
ried off my best negro man. There’s 
gratitude for ye ! ” 


A Pioneer Abolitionist 159 

'‘If your negroes choose to go with 
us they may, for I deny any man’s 
right to property in human beings,” 

” Zounds! man, do ye set up your 
opeenion against the Bible and the 
law?” cried Gilliland in great heat. 
” But they’re all gone now but my one 
woman, Dinah, and her baby. You’ll 
not take my last servant. Captain ?” 

” If she’s your property we may 
take her; if she’s not, she’s free to go 
where she pleases,” said the captain, 
and left the vexed proprietor to con- 
sider this logical conclusion. 

As Tom went the rounds of his 
squad to relieve the guard the slave 
woman, a bright, intelligent mulatto, 
cast frequent searching glances at him 
as she labored at her various tasks, 
and at last found an opportunity to 
speak to him. 

” I beg pardon, marster, but wasn’t 
you here jes' ’fore my man George 


i6o 


In the Green Wood 


run away ? Marster William allers 
reckoned how you had southin’ to do 
wi’ George’s goin’.” 

“ Yes, George crossed the lake with 
me,” Tom answered rather apologeti- 
cally. ” I didn’t coax him ; he would 
go because he was angry at your mas- 
ter for striking him.” 

” Oh, does you know where he is, 
marster ? For the Lord’s sake tell me 
if you does.” 

“Oh, yes,” he answered; “he’s 
livin’ at Otter Creek Falls, an’ he’s 
got him a house and a bit o’ land.” 

Dinah caught her breath with a 
quick gasp. “ Then I’m a-goin’ wi’ 
you folks,” she declared in a low 
voice. “ Oh, you’ll let me, won’t 
you ? ” 

“ That’s jest as the cap’n says,” 
and the woman hurried away with a 
new-born hope. 

So it chanced, the liberty-loving cap- 


A Pioneer Abolitionist i6i 

tain’s views tallying with her desires, 
when the rangers departed with their 
prisoners and spoils Dinah Mattis and 
her child 'went with them, neither as 
one nor the other, but as free as any 
of the company. 

When it came to division of the 
spoils and the question of the disposal 
of these two arose, the captain made 
open declaration of his anti-slavery 
principles, and there was not a dis- 
senting voice in his command. 

His deed of emancipation, the earli- 
est of the kind on record, runs as fol- 
lows : * 

“Headquarters, Pollet, 

28/^ November, 1777. 
“To WHOM IT MAY CONCERN KNOW YE, 

“ Whereas Dinah Mattis, a negro woman 
with Nancy her child of two months old was 

* “ Governor and Council,” vol. i, p. 93. Also 
Vermont Historical Society Collections, vol. i, p. 
249. 


i 62 


In the Green Wood 


taken prisoner on Lake Champlain with the 
British troops somewhere near Col. Gilliner’s 
patten the twelfth day of instant November 
by a scout under my command, and accord- 
ing to a resolve passed by the honorable the 
Continental Congress that all prizes belong to 
the captivators thereof— therefore she and her 
child became the just property of the cap- 
tivators thereof — I being conscientious that 
it is not right in the sight of God to keep 
slaves — I therefore obtaining leave of the de- 
tachment under my command to give her and 
her child their freedom — I do therefore give 
the said Dinah Mattis and Nancy her child 
their freedom to pass and repass anywhere 
through the United States of America with 
her behaving as becometh, and to trade and 
to traffic for herself and child as though she 
were born free, without being molested by 
any person or persons. In witness where- 
unto I have set my hand or subscribed my 
name. 

“Ebenezer Allen, Capt ” 

Dinah was duly furnished with a 
copy, and with her child set forth to 


A Pioneer Abolitionist 163 

join her husband in his log-house 
on the wooded shore of Otter Creek 
and within sound of its cataract's 
thunder. 


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